The Magical Bat 35: Business Trip
by karanne
Summary: A continuation of Mattie Wayne's magical education between third and fourth years.
1. Prologue, 15 & 16 June, 2001

The Magical Bat 3.5: Business Trip

#include stdDisclaimer.h: Batman, Catwoman, Alfred, Babs, Dick, Lucius Fox, and the others, are DC Comic's toys, as are John Stewart and the rest of the Lantern crew. Hogwarts, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys and the others in the Potterverse belong to the fabulous JK Rowling. The Morton family is used with the permission of GITM. I'm just playing with their toys, and they'll be put back later. Everyone else, they're mine. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 Kara Anne Kalel karanne AT gmail DOT com. All rights reserved. No money is made, and no infringement is implied or intended.

This is a sequel to my stories: The Bat & the Cat, redux, The Magical Bat (I), Magical Bat: road trip (1.5), Magical Bat II, Magical Bat: Training Trip (2.5), and Magical Bat III.

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------------------------  
1: Prologue, 15-16 June, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Friday, June 15, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table: 17:05  
_**------------------------

"Wonder what McGonagall's talking to Yates about?" someone said, and Julie looked up to see Yates nod, stand and say something to her mates in Slytherin, then walk over to them as the Headmistress continued to the Head Table.

"Evening, everyone. May I join you?"

"We thought you were a Slythie," Julie said, and Yates shook her head. "I was sorted into Gryffindor in 2378," she explained, "I was really hoping to see a working TV, though. They're all in museums," she added, "Pass the potatoes, please."

"So, can you tell us..." someone started, and Yates held up her hand. "Money or fate?" She grinned, "The two most common questions of any time-traveler. Ooh, is that sweet corn? May I?" She spooned a helping onto her plate, "I'll tell you what I told 'em in the fourteenth century, and what Wayne told 'em. I know _some_ of your fates, but not all of you." She cut a bite of steak, then chewed slowly, adding, "Beef is frackin' expensive, cows aren't very efficient beasts. Lots of chicken and rabbit, and goat's milk. Stations have a fairly vegetarian diet, y'know."

"Actually, we don't," Julie said. "We've only had three space stations; the current one's only half-built. Where were you born?"

"Mars station," Cassidy replied, concentrating on her meal. "Polar orbit because of Phobos, y'know." She looked up, "Oops."

"Got y' now," someone chortled, "Spill, lassie."

"Okay, financial advice," Cassidy said, and people leaned close. She looked about theatrically, while spearing another bite of steak, whispering, "Buy low, sell high," and popped the bite in her mouth as people sat back and groaned.

------------------------

Julie shushed people as the Headmistress stood, tapping her butter knife against her goblet. Conversation quieted down as she gazed about the Great Hall. When she was satisfied, she stated, "Another year draws to a close. For now, we bid farewell to some of our friends, once seventh-years, now graduates."

Someone whooped from farther down the table, and pandemonium erupted again. She waited patiently, and the noise died down once more. "Thank you," she said primly, adding, "We now come to the announcement of the Quidditch cup. Gryffindor," she winced, "with 130 points, Hufflepuff, with ..."

With a small pop of displaced air, a small blue figure popped into existence in front of the high table. He turned in midair, and Julie gasped as she recognized a Guardian. He intoned, "Green Lantern, you are needed." He waited a few seconds, then turned toward Slytherin, and repeated, "Green Lantern, you are needed."

"I said I'm busy, come back later," Wayne said as she stood, "There are three other Lanterns on this planet, and I have other commitments." Turning toward the high table, she apologized, "I'm sorry, I didn't know he'd be coming. Please pardon the interruption."

"You are needed, Green Lantern. Come at once," the Guardian insisted.

Wayne glowered at the Guardian, totally unafraid, and demanded, "And what of my request? What do you plan to do about the galactic slave trade?"

Several people gasped in shock as the Guardian replied, "You will not dictate your morality or ethics upon others until you have resolved the problem on your own world. You are needed. Come."

Wayne snorted, "Letting billions of sentient creatures decide their own fate is a matter of _my_ imposed ethics? I don't think so. As a matter of fact, I hereby resign from the Green Lantern Corps, not that I really wanted your silly Ring in the first place." Julie's jaw dropped as Wayne strode up to stand face to face with him. With a twist, she pulled the Ring off her finger, pulling out his hand and slapping it in his palm. "I quit," she told one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, forcing a weapon that could shatter planets with a thought into his hand.

"You _dare_ to touch my person?" he said, surprised.

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out," she said, turning her back to him. "You bet I dare." Wayne looked at the High Table, "Professor, shall I escort him out?"

"Who... who is that?" the Headmistress asked, forcing herself back under control.

"Ganthet, one of the Guardians of Oa, creator of the Green Lantern Corps, and billion-year old galactic busybody," Wayne replied, adding, "Out?"

"If you would, please," the Headmistress asked. Wayne reached for Ganthet's robes, and with a motion, she was thrown away, crashing against the Hufflepuff bench. Ganthet floated in midair, a green shell of energy surrounding him.

Wayne shook her head; stalking toward the Guardian as she started to mutter a spell under her breath. A white nimbus of energy surrounded her as a wind started to blow, globes of energy around her fists as she floated to face him, "I said, NO!" A swirl of magic built up around her, the wind picked up, flames flickering as the hundreds of floating candles went out, dropping from midair. The beams supporting the enchanted ceiling creaked, the spell flickering out revealing a plain slate roof, as an aura of magic started swirling around her as, for the first time in centuries, Hogwarts castle groaned.

Her brother called, "Yellow spells!" from Hufflepuff, drawing his wand and firing at the Guardian, secure behind his green shield. At the High Table, the faculty was firing spells at Ganthet, with the students firing a wide variety of curses and hexes. Wayne backed off, white energy circling her as the castle shook, small stones and dust falling from the walls. With a 'crash', a window blew out, a loud 'crack' sounding from the ceiling beams.

"You are still young," the Guardian said clearly over the howl of magic and the tortured cries of the building. "You channel the source energies of one planet; I control the energies of the universe. You have impressed me." With a wave of his hand, Wayne was thrown away, sliding down the Hufflepuff table with a wave of broken crockery. Two first-years kept her from sliding off.

Yates leapt the table, catching Wayne's arm, popping out her tan wand from Mattie's right sleeve as she lay unconscious. Julie heard her say as she started to fire spells at the Guardian, muttering, "Knock out MY Grandma, you deal with ME!" Julie shoved that interesting thought to the back of her mind as Yates' spells managed to knock Ganthet back, the barrage resuming.

Ganthet looked Yates over as he floated toward her, the twitch of a finger replacing the Ring on Wayne's unconscious finger. "Out of time? We shall correct that." With a wave of his hand, they both disappeared.

------------------------  
**_Friday, June 15, 2390:  
Earth, Gotham City, Wayne Manor: 18:11  
_**------------------------

With a 'pop', Cassidy dropped about a meter to the soft ground, tan wand still in her hand. She shook her head, looking about, and muttering, "Gotham. The family graveyard, it could be worse." She strode over to a pair of headstones, crouching down and running her finger through the weathered engraving on one. "It was nice to finally meet you, Grandma. Thanks for saving my life."

**Helena Martha Wayne  
Born: 31 May 1988  
Murdered: 15 March 2208  
**

"The only way they could get you, Grandma, when you were too old to defend yourself. You still gave a good account of yourself, and you never took a life." She brushed back a tear, "Rest in peace, you too, Grandpa."

**Arthur Donald Morton  
Born: 19 February 1987  
Murdered: 15 March 2208**

Cassidy touched the headstone, "I never got the chance to apologize for fainting on you, Grandpa. Sorry about that. We took care of Luthor for both of you. He's a senile old brain floating in his tank in the weapons vault." Her hand dropped. "I'd better get home. I'm sorry I couldn't get to know you better. Rest in peace." She stood as a gentle rain began, walking up the gravel path toward the mausoleum.

As she walked away, the death dates on the two tombstones began to blur.

------------------------  
**_Friday, June 15, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 19:42  
_**------------------------

"You WILL leave, Miss Tonks, and the rest of you also. Miss Wayne is suffering from magical exhaustion; there is no reason to wait for her." Madame Pomfrey glowered at the crowd of students, adding, "We will notify you when she wakes. Off with you, you have a long train ride tomorrow." Grumbling, the students left, as Minerva came up. Poppy held the door for her, asking, "How much damage?"

"Had it continued, the castle might very well have shaken to the ground," Minerva said. "How are the other injuries?"

"Treated and released," the mediwitch replied. "I haven't seen that much raw power since Harry's battle with You-Know-Who. What spell was she using?"

"I have no idea. Filius wants to talk to her, she'll be staying in England for summer school, you know. He's got the ceiling enchantment restored." She paused, "Albus owled me, the ... effect, if you will, was felt as far away as London. It broke glass in the Cauldron." Minerva sighed, "She survived a fight with a living god, as near I can tell. Not bad for a third-year."

"Indeed," Severus said, emerging from the shadows. "Albus did warn that Miss Wayne would be a challenge." He offered a vial, "Migraine potion?"

"Thank you, Severus," Minerva said, downing the potion. "How are your Slytherins?"

"Concerned, of course. If you will excuse me, I shall look in on them." He bowed, and with a swirl of black robes, departed.

"You should never have taught him that trick with the robes, Minnie," Poppy said.

------------------------

Minerva settled behind her desk, fresh cuppa in hand, and opened the 1380 Headmaster's Journal to June. She noticed a letter addressed to her, and broke the seal.

_15 June, 1380 _

_My dearest Minerva, _

_That was certainly an exciting school year! I do hope Miss Yates was revived successfully, and that Miss Malfoy was properly acquainted with a good rope! The casual way in which she killed still makes my blood boil! _

_On to business, I mentioned in April that I had a boon to ask. Miss Bundy was kind enough to designate a place on the Moon 'Port Oldridge' (and you were kind enough to show me maps!), and I would like to be reburied there. It does seem a bit odd to ask that when I feel whole and healthy, but the tomb is all our fates. I have enclosed a properly witnessed letter which should cover any legal issues, and set aside a few coins in a privy account for any costs. By the time you read this, it should have grown to a tidy sum. Any remaining balance, please apply to the Headmaster's discretionary fund. _

_I feel disappointed that we shall never meet again (although I retain hopes of Heaven!), and close, in gratitude,  
Alberta Oldridge _

Taking a contemplative sip of tea, she remained lost in thought, when her fire flared, and a head poked out, "Minerva!"

"Good evening, Sarah," she told the American witch. "What can I do for you?"

"We felt ... something ... earlier today, and our detectors pointed to you. May we come through, or is this a bad time?" the blonde replied in a Boston accent.

"Please, come," she replied, standing to conjure armchairs as the fire flared twice more after her. A dignified black woman with her hair in plaits, carrying a staff followed the American, and a small Mexican wizard wearing a muggle suit and a string tie followed her. Minerva bowed, "Madame Nyota, Senor Felipe, how wonderful to see you again." The tea set levitated about as people settled themselves; Sarah adding, "We were speaking earlier with the others, might I firecall them?"

"Please, feel free," Minerva said, and as the American witch busied herself at the floo, she asked, "How are things in New Orleans and Mexico?"

"Examinations," the head of the school of Voodoo replied, the Mexican nodding, "at Azteca also. We detected a disturbance a few hours ago, none of our spells would work, the student's practicals failed, and then suddenly, within a few minutes, things returned to normal."

"Our detectors pointed to Hogwarts, we would like to know what happened," the Voodoo priestess mentioned. "Our waterproofing spells failed, it was most disconcerting."

"One of my third-years," Minerva replied, when the floo flared again. She stood to greet the others, Yalena Popov from Moscow's Institute for the study of Magic, Tsien Fa-Gong from Beijing's Lion's Temple, Sheik Habibi from Cairo, Viktor from Durmstrang, and lastly, Madame Maxine from Beauxbatons.

After they all had been seated, and been properly supplied with tea or coffee, Minerva settled behind her desk, "I presume that you'd like to know what happened earlier today. We were just starting the Leaving Feast, when a Guardian popped in."

"Guardian? O' is theees Guardian?" Maxine asked, Yalena replying, "A Guardian of the Universe, I presume." Minerva nodded, and the Russian witch continued, "Interstellar aurors, as I understand it. Enough power to move stars about, or snuff them out like that;" and she snapped her fingers. "What was one doing in Hogwarts?"

"One of my third-years has acquired a Power Ring from them, she went to their training school last summer," Minerva replied. "The Guardian, whose name is Ganthet, popped in demanding she leave on a mission immediately. She declined, he insisted, she tried to return the Ring to him, and it degenerated from there." She took a fortifying sip of tea. "I requested she escort him out, and when she went to do so, he threw her across the Great Hall. She cast a completely unknown spell, the effects of which you felt. As I understand it, the spell channeled the planet's magical energy through her; however, Mr. Ganthet channels a galaxy's worth of energy. She was severely over-matched."

Sarah leaned forward, "You have a _Lantern_ as a student, Minnie?"

"A reluctant one," she admitted. "She has never wanted the Ring; it was forced on her by well-meaning relatives concerned over her safety."

"Next you will tell us she plays Quidditch, too," Felipe said, half joking.

Minerva smiled slightly, "Seeker," she admitted. "She has never used the Ring in competition, though. Was there any damage to your schools?"

Glances flicked about, "Nothing '_reparo_' couldn't fix," Nyota admitted. "Which brings up something we had discussed informally, I'd like to bring it up here. What do you think about reviving the International Academic Quidditch tournament?"

"We are still in possession of the trophy," Sheik Habibi replied, settling his robes. "Minerva, I believe Hogwarts was next scheduled to host when the competition was cancelled. Would this be acceptable to everyone?"

"It would," Tsien said. She yawned; "Excuse me, but it has been a very long day for me. Have the competition sometime in spring?"

"Perhaps our Easter break?" Minerva asked.

Tsien nodded, "If there is nothing else, my bed in Beijing awaits." She stood, bowing formally as the rest stood; taking her departure through the floo, shortly followed by the others.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, June 16, 2001:  
Hogwarts Express, southbound: 11:28  
_**------------------------

"Well, THAT was certainly an interesting Leaving Feast," one of the twins said. "Any idea what spell Wayne was using?"

"No bloody idea," Charlie said. "Could you feel it? It was like she was sucking the magic out of the castle."

"'Twas not one of which I am aware," Anne said. "I shall inquire of her this summer." She turned, "I must congratulate Hufflepuff on a surprising win of the House Cup."

"Proving you don't need Quidditch to take it," Arthur said, and Sprink stuck out her tongue.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, June 16, 2001:  
London, Kings Cross Station: 15:57  
_**------------------------

Julie watched Tomas speak to the Wayne staffer, then motion. The Yanks split off from their friends as they manhandled their trunks toward the car park.

------------------------

"This isn't the way to Gatwick," one of the twins said, the driver replying, "Bad smashup down that way, this is a roundabout way." He sneezed, fishing out a handkerchief and apologizing, "Sorry, I've a cold." He reached over to touch the air conditioning; there was a hiss, and Julie yawned and fell asleep.

------------------------

"Oh, my head..." Julie muttered, waking up. She came awake to find herself locked in a room with the other girls, wrists handcuffed behind her, wearing leg irons.

"Who?" Connie asked, when there was a click, and the door unlocked, the light coming on. "Oww..." she said, bending over to shield her eyes.

"Come along now," an oriental woman said, helping Connie to stand. "Down the hall and left, you'll be with the guys. Sorry about the jumpsuits, had to make sure you weren't concealing anything nasty. We haven't touched you otherwise."

"Where are we?" Connie asked.

"Still in London, we thought Wayne would be with you. We sent another team to fetch her." She hauled the last twin to her feet, "On with you, now."

"Then what?"

"Then we leave for the States, I turn you over to my employer, and get paid." She shrugged, "Nothing personal, just business." She waved, "On with you, there's food for you. Nothing fancy, just protein shakes."

------------------------

"Julie!" Arthur called, shuffling over to her as well as he could. He stopped, and they inspected each other, both wearing identical shackles and grey jumpsuits. "Do you know what's going on?"

"They're looking for Mattie," she replied. "They've sent another team for her. Otherwise, I'm fine. You?"

"All my toys are gone," he admitted. "Other than that, I'm OK. Know who that is?" Julie shook her head as the oriental woman clapped her hands. "Sorry about the handcuffs. We get paid more for you alive than dead, so please don't do anything stupid. We're also aware that you're wizards, so once you've had your shake, sit quietly against the wall."

"So who is that?" Julie asked, sliding her way down against the wall next to Arthur.

"Trouble. Big trouble. Ever hear Elena talk about someone called 'Paper Monkey'? That's her, her name is Sandra Woosan, but she goes by another name," he replied.

"Lady Shiva," the woman said, crouching next to them. She gazed at them, "You know about me, Mr. Morton. I'm impressed, and not even a member of the Clan. You do your homework."

"Know thine enemies," he quoted.

"A mercenary has no enemies, just business arrangements," she replied. She cocked an eye at Julie, "No idea what your brother's into?"

"It's safer that way," he replied.

"Usually," she agreed. "However, this time there's collateral damage. I'll give you a freebie. Luthor's pissed at Wayne; he wants the tech, and the starship. Don't trust him further than you can throw him." There was a commotion at the door, someone came in with a limp figure over their shoulder, and she stood.

"Got 'er, but she took out the other blokes," he said, laying the figure on the table.

"Load 'em up," she said, "The others won't match what the starship would, but it's better than Wayne alone." The lights flickered; then went out.

"You'll take my son and daughter anywhere over my dead body, Shiva," a woman's voice said, followed by the rumbling snarl of a panther. The emergency lights flicked on to show a tall figure in purple leather, holding a bullwhip.

"What the Catlady said," a lithe figure in blue and silver said, the snap of a bo staff in his hand.

"I agree with my husband," a redheaded woman wearing grey and yellow said.

"My Clan, my family," Catwoman's voice was heard. "Your choice, Shiva. You want a blood feud with us?"

"I'd be passing up a blank Presidential pardon," Shiva replied. She turned, looking at Mattie, "One condition. The end of summer, you come see me for a week. I want to test you, train you like I did your father."

"I will not kill," she replied.

"Just like your father," Shiva mocked. "You have my explicit permission to try to kill me. I will, however, refrain from killing you."

"Deal," Mattie held open the fire exit. "See you in August."

------------------------

The lights flickered back on, with a hum the air conditioning restarted. Julie sat against the wall, jaw hanging, as a figure she recognized as the Pimpernel collapsed into a chair. "I could sleep for a week," she admitted.

"You know Pomfrey didn't want to let you out," Professor Harry said, leaning over the twins. With a snick, their shackles unlocked, and he moved to Connie. "How are you, Miss Koslowski?"

"Fine, thank you," she replied automatically, then shook her head to clear it.

Tomas asked, "My sister... my mother... you are the Bat?"

"Yes, Tomas, welcome to the Clan," Catwoman said, crouching next to him, and touching his cuffs, then his ankle chains.

"Let me help you, Miss Morton," Nightwing said, opening her shackles.

She rubbed her wrists, asking, "You're... you're related to Mattie?" She glanced at the figure sitting at the table, which had put her head down, and was gently snoring.

"She's my sister," he said, touching her nose with a fingertip. "Not a word to anyone, now."

"What did Shiva mean, train like her father? That means that..." one of the twins paled, "Batman..."

"After that bastard Bane broke his back, he went to her for training," Nightwing replied. "I don't care much for her ethics, but she's the finest martial artist on the planet. Even outnumbering her, I was not looking forward to that fight."

"But I've seen Mattie fight," the other twin said. "Shiva's _better_ than you lot?"

"My estimate is that I'd last about fifteen minutes with her, Batman took her one fall out of three," Nightwing replied. "I'd estimate Mattie could go about three or four minutes with her." Julie looked up, "There's always someone better than you are. Remember that, Julie." He reached down to help Arthur up, "Are you coming to the party on the fourth?"

"This story I have to hear," Julie declared

"Not from me, though," Arthur said quietly.

"Shall I wipe their memories?" Professor Harry asked, glancing at Catwoman. "Or are you lot willing to swear a Wizard's Oath that you'll keep silent on this?"

"I'll accept their oath," Catwoman replied.

------------------------

"Mr. Morton?" Professor Harry asked.

"I've given mine to Mattie. If that's not good enough..." Nightwing looked him in the eye; then clapped his shoulder, "Good enough for me."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, June 16, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 18:41 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

The small white ship banked silently, gently touching down at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, carefully side slipping so the landing gear could avoid the flowerbeds in the traffic circle. People started to appear in front yards as the front ramp lowered and two of the Morton kids appeared, towing their school trunks. Behind them, the ramp rose and the ship silently lifted off.

Maggie Morton was draining the spaghetti; she lifted her eyebrow, asking, "Arthur, can you take care of these trunks?"

"Arthur and I'll get them, Julie, want to wash up?" the oldest son Henry said, adding to Arthur, "Helluva entrance, bro."

"You should have seen us clearing Customs in New York," Arthur deadpanned before picking up his trunk.

"You didn't say _anything_ about ... this!" Misty asked her fiancé.

"Because I didn't know," Henry replied, "You know where Arthur and Julie go to school, don't you?"

"A school for magic in Scotland," she said. "Which still seems a bit unreal to me."

------------------------

As the Morton kids gathered in the back yard after dinner, Henry asking, "Okay, you two, spill. How do you arrive home in a _starship_?"

Arthur traded looks with Julie, who replied, "We can't say much, we're under a Wizard's Oath of silence. It would cost us our magic to break that oath."

"Okay, I can accept that. Barely," her eldest brother said. He scrubbed his face, "What can you tell us?"

"You're aware of the ... political difficulties with Luthor and that starship?" Arthur asked. Heads nodded, "Luthor sent some goons to kidnap us, they were stopped; Mattie offered us a ride home. End of story."

"I'm sure there's so much more to that story," Teela said, idly sketching the scene.

"You have _no_ idea how much more," Arthur said. "Bill, got your wand?" He pulled it from his sleeve and passed it over, Arthur placing it atop an empty flowerpot and making several passes over it with his; then saying, "Your first spell. I'll teach you how to levitate something."

"Hold it, isn't that illegal?" Elena asked.

"Technically, yes, but Arthur just removed the government underage tracking spells," Julie explained. Speaking carefully, she said, "A certain politician is likely, _very_ likely, to try kidnapping in order to force possession of that starship. That's why we're going to be drilling Bill in defensive magic this summer, and why we suggest you keep one of us with you."

"What about after you leave in September?" Misty asked.

"We're still working on that one," he admitted. "As for Bill's wand,I've transferred the spells to the flowerpot," Arthur clarified, adding, "You need to think like a spy, using throwaway cell phones, they're only fifty bucks each. We've also got a few bracelets for you to wear. They will do two things, trigger invisibility and unlocking charms on any handcuffs. The bracelets are notice-me-not charmed, so any cops will ignore them." He turned to his future sister-in-law, "We've also got emergency portkeys for all of us, including you, Misty," he said, pulling his from his shirt. "It's set for Hogwarts infirmary, and because it's a transatlantic portkey, it won't be a smooth ride. You'll wind up puking in Scotland."

"Portkey?" she asked, gently touching the gold medallion on the table with a fingernail.

"Magical transportation," Julie said. "It's supposed to feel like a hook through your navel, and it'll land you on your butt." She picked up the portkey by the chain, handing it back to Arthur, who continued, "We've also got some defenses for the house and cars. They're from a certain joke shop in London, they're non-lethal, but they have to be blood-matched to everyone for safety." He looked at his elder brother, "Believe me, you don't want to be transfigured to a six-foot chicken."

------------------------

"Speaking of London, we received a FedEx package Friday," Elena said, "I signed for it. It was from a company called Arrowhead Investments, and it was title to a crater on the moon." She laced her fingers together, "Spill. How do we own property on the moon?"

Julie's mouth dropped open, "I sent Mom an email saying that Mattie had suggested to me that we form a family corporation, and to let her know what the name was. I had no idea..."

"Sounds like her," Arthur snorted. "Arrowhead is her investment corporation. She's got a plan to colonize the moon." He looked at his brothers and sisters, "What about tungsten?"

"We've been buying it," Henry said. "I don't know why, though."

"It's the galactic currency," Julie said. "It's why this system is invaded so often, we're a bunch of ignorant savages sitting on a mountain of it. Think of it as buying gold, or diamonds."

"A few hundred kilos will buy a small starship," Arthur said, idly transfiguring another flowerpot to a model of the _Yates_. "It's not the only reason, though. She talks about a genetic lifeboat." He looked up, "Something's got her scared. Not for her, not for us, for everyone. She's absolutely driven about this, but she won't say why."

------------------------


	2. 17 – 23 June, 2001

For disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

------------------------  
2: 17–23 June, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, June 17, 2390:  
Luna, westbound train: 01:57  
_**------------------------

Cassidy settled into her seat with a sigh of relief. She had spent almost the full day proving her identity, then getting her death certificate revoked at the lunar embassy and getting her various accounts reactivated. Shopping had been fun, but all in all, being dead had been a major headache.

'_Especially twice,_' she thought, '_originally in the 24th century, then again in the 21st_.' She touched her new phone, said "Home", and then "Hi, mom!"

"Cassidy! Where are you? We've been worried sick!"

"I'm on the train out of Port Oldridge. I'll see you in a couple hours; we've got a lot to talk about."

"We'll be waiting at the station, sweetie. Love you!" her mother said as she disconnected.

'_That's something we need to talk about_,' Cassidy thought, settling back for a nap.

Her rather large seatmate eyed the slim blonde, waiting until she heard the gentle snore; then reached over to pluck the phone off her jaw. Using the manual dial, she settled down, asking, "Bertha? It's me. Now what were you saying about old man Ed?"

------------------------

"Departing Grimaldi, Orientale; next stop!" the overhead speaker announced, as the train started again.

"Hmm?" Cassidy mumbled, as her seatmate said, "...you put a layer of icing on the first layer; that holds the second layer of the cake on. Put icing on each layer..."

"That was my stop!" Cassidy exclaimed as she groped for her phone. Standing, she looked around her seat as her seatmate glared at her, but continued talking, "...no, that was nothing. Now, once you've got all the layers on, you..."

"You've got my phone!"

Her seatmate snorted, "Do you mind? This is an important call!"

"You're talking about a fracking cake, on my phone!" Cassidy snatched the phone, pulling up the registration hologram. "See? It's registered to me!" She addressed the phone, "Hello, whoever this is. You're getting billed for this call; it's on a stolen phone." She disconnected as it squawked in outrage, calling the operator, "I'm reversing charges on that last call, and it was on a stolen phone. Right, the last legitimate call was to 45 Grimaldi. Thanks."

"Well, you weren't using it, and I needed to make some calls!" the seatmate claimed.

"Explains why it didn't wake me up," Cassidy said, grabbing her duffle bag and shoving past the fat woman to move to another seat. Throwing the duffle in the seat, she told the phone, "Mom", then, "Hi, mom. No, my seatmate had stolen my phone and turned off the alarm, so I missed the stop. I'll get off at Orientale and come east."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, June 17, 2390:  
Luna, Grimaldi station: 03:17  
_**------------------------

The stationmaster boarded, standing over the fat woman, asking Cassidy, "Miss Yates, do you wish to press charges?"

"I'm certainly not paying for her phone calls to Earth!"

The stationmaster nodded, "Ma'am, you can either reimburse Miss Yates or be charged with theft of communication services. In either case, you're coming with us." He stepped aside as Cassidy left the train through the pressure tube.

Emerging on the concourse, she smiled at the beds of flowers surrounding the "Welcome to Grimaldi" sign, and was folded into a group hug by her family. They started to the stairs going down to the local platform, ignoring the large woman being led off the train behind them.

------------------------  
**_Monday, June 18, 2001:  
London, Ministry of Magic, Muggle affairs committee: 8:13  
_**------------------------

"That's the situation," Arthur Weasley summarized to the rest of the committee. "There are apparently several wizards openly practicing magic in front of muggles, including at least one American mage." He sat down heavily, "The question arises, what do we do?"

"Arrest them!" snapped Doris Crockford.

"The American witch, at least, would be politically difficult," Arthur admitted. "She's using her mage name as a stage name, and passing herself off as 'Zatanna the Magnificent'. As you know, relations with the Americans are ... strained right now, we must tread carefully."

"What about our own subjects?" Josiah Wheatley asked.

"They're simply amusing the tykes in the park, complete with muggle licenses," Arthur said, "None of the muggles seem particularly fussed by magic."

"You have an idea, though," Josiah said.

"I do," Arthur said. "We specifically permit my twin sons, and their mates, to do more advanced magic. They can advertise their shop, although I'd suggest they do nothing past, oh, fifth-year, or permanent magic. They will need to acquire the proper muggle permits, and pay taxes and fees, for, oh, ninety days. They can apparate if necessary, but it would allow us to gauge how open muggles are to magic outside the play-park."

"Perhaps one of the Underground stations?" Josiah mused; looking up, "Which station?"

"I would let them choose that, although I'd suggest one with a good bit of foot traffic, like Green Park or Tottenham Court."

"So moved," Josiah said. "Second?"

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, June 20, 2001:  
London, Soho, Sheila Hawking's townhouse: 18:44  
_**------------------------

"Finally awake, eh?" Sheila asked as Mattie stumbled into the kitchen. "You were sleeping like the dead. Want something to eat?"

"A horse, don't bother cooking it," she replied. Her nose twitched as a plate was put in front of her. "Pot roast?"

"Not just any pot roast; my own Yankee pot roast," her aunt replied. "Eat up, there's more where that came from. I like your hair, by the way."

"Hmm?" A glass of milk was put before her, and she gulped it. Sheila brushed at her own black locks, "White over your ears, dear."

"Whaa? Mattie scampered to the powder room, and gave a small shriek. Sheila called, "Don't worry, I picked up some hair color; it's in the bathroom. Finish up and get a shower, Pomfrey wanted me to call when you woke up."

------------------------

"Hmf," the mediwitch snorted. "I want you to rest, now. Spend time in the park, soak up some sun. Nothing more exerting than walking to the park, now; I'll speak to Severus and Filius, you can start your classes this coming Monday."

"What about exercise?" Mattie asked, pulling her shirt on.

"Not more than a three kilometer run in the morning and a half-hour workout in the park." Her patient grumbled, the mediwitch replying, "You've channeled a planet's worth of magic through your body, and I don't know what long term effects on your health there might be," Poppy told her. "You're still growing, even if you're denying it, and if you didn't know, that little ... dispute was felt world-wide, upsetting students final exams in Mexico." Poppy patted her shoulder, "Give yourself a chance to heal, dear."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, June 21, 2001:  
London, Marble Arch station, Central line: 11:08  
_**------------------------

Mattie's hand snaked out to capture the hand trying to sneak her wallet from her bag, she muttered, "Move it or have it broken," and twisted his thumb slightly. With a slight gasp of pain, the hand vanished, a voice muttering, "Sorry, milady," and a figure shuffled away. The train doors opened, she swiped her Oyster card, and looked for the stairs.

------------------------

She centered herself, meditating, listening to the hum of conversation fade away. Breathing deeply, eyes closed, she moved into the beginnings of her kata, smoothly spinning and kicking at imaginary opponents, blocking and punching, ducking and weaving, jabs flowing into back kicks, dodging and weaving until she flowed back into a lotus position. Her eyes jerked open at applause, someone asking, "What kind of dance is that?"

"Martial arts, not a dance," someone replied, Mattie twisting around to see Sprink and Charlie Adams. "Guys!" and a group hug ensued as the watching crowd broke up.

Sprink held her at arm's length, "You're alive!" Mattie grinned, flopping back on the grass. "From what Pomfrey says, just barely. The leaving feast is kinda hazy, what happened after I got knocked out?"

"You saw Yates move over to Gryffindor?" Charlie asked. He took a seat next to her, tailor-fashion, as Sprink settled down, leaning back on her heels. "Anyway, after you cast that spell ... what spell was it, by the way?"

"Translation is 'World Mage', I found it in the restricted section in the past," Mattie confessed. "Originally Egyptian, I think, at least the hieroglyphs were." She shrugged, "It looked to be a useful spell, so I practiced it a bit, and you never know when you could use a bit more power. Anyway, the last thing I really remember is Ganthet throwing me into the wall."

"What did he want you for, anyway?" Charlie asked. "He never said."

"Never told me either, and this bit of costume jewelry is being very, very quiet on the whole thing," she said, waving her hand. "I'd like to know what I'm risking my life on, y'know, instead of finding out when I arrive and bull on through," and she glared at her right hand.

"Anyway, Yates popped your tan wand out, and she started firing spells," Charlie continued, "They were the only ones that bothered him, so Ganthet floated over, said something about her being 'out of time', and they both vanished."

"I wondered where that was ... "she mused.

"When we went up to see you, Pomfrey said you were suffering from 'magical exhaustion' and you'd wake up when you would," Sprink offered.

"Well, I'll start with Flitwick and Snape on Monday; I just woke up last night. Pomfrey wanted me to rest, get some sun; she's limited me to only _one_ three kilometer run a day!"

"You exhaust me just talking to you!" Charlie said, and Sprink snorted, "The only way I can keep up on her runs is in my wolf-form," she admitted.

"Speaking of which... " and Charlie groaned, "How many 'wolves can you get together quickly, in a couple days' notice?"

"Thirty or forty," Sprink admitted. "Amy set up a tree; we've got mobiles now, so each of us calls three or four others, why?"

"I have an idea," Mattie admitted. "I've got to run it by my legal and financial people, but have you thought about getting a pilot's license?"

------------------------

Sprink sat up suddenly, whistled, and waved, "Oi, Nymphy! Kingsley! Over here!" Aside, she said, "My sister and her partner." Standing, she brushed off the seat of her jeans as the others stood, "Nymphy, Kingsley, these are my schoolmates and my best mates, Mattie Wayne and Charlie Adams."

"Pleased," Kingsley rumbled, shaking their hands as Tonks waved at two others. They approached, and she introduced them, "Two of my favorite muggle coppers, Mike and Amanda from Homicide, this is my sister Sprink, and two of her schoolmates, Mattie and Charlie." She added, "They got involved in the Malfoy murder."

"Which one?" Sprink asked.

"Hers."

"Good riddance," Mattie said, Charlie nodding in agreement. Amanda cocked an eyebrow, "A Yank?" Mattie nodded, "Why are you here in this beastly heat?"

"Beastly? Some of my best friends are beasts, I'll have you know." (Sprink transformed as Charlie rubbed her head.) She grinned, "I'll say it again, good riddance to Malfoy, she's the reason I'm here for summer school."

"A bit of pique?" Mike asked, Charlie replying, "No, sir. Malfoy cast a time-travel spell on her, sent her back to the 14th century. She came back with a starship and a load of kit in the hold."

"A starship?" Amanda asked. "My brother's in the paras, he mentioned he was guarding a starship for a rich Yank who was tight with..." She paled slightly, whispering, "You're _Wayne_! Gor blimey... What are you still doing on this rock?"

"Looking for lunch," she replied matter-of-factly. "This rock is still home, no reason I can't do a bit of DIY, you know." They turned when a frantic man hurried past calling, "Amber! Where are you, luv? Please, stop hiding from Daddy!" He asked, "Please, have you seen a little girl? About three or so?"

"We'll help you, sir," Amanda said, showing her badge as Sprink thrust her snout into the pram. "Metropolitan police." Sprink yipped and took off, nose to the pavement as she trotted along. Charlie told the father, "Go, we'll watch your kit."

------------------------

They appropriated a bench, the pram next to it, as Charlie asked, "So, what's this about a pilot's license?"

She shook her head, pushing the pram with her toe, "What about you and Sprink?" Mattie asked, grinning, "I saw how the two of you were in Herbology."

"Like you and Arthur?" he teased, and she sighed. "You know, next year is our first school ball. Fancy dresses and tuxedos, dress robes; I hate the social set. I wonder if there's any way to avoid it."

"You? Not a prayer, luv. There are advantages to being poor but honest."

"It chafes my miserly Scottish soul to pay thousands of pounds for a dress that I'll wear _once_!" she complained. She looked at the water splashing in a fountain, and reached down, stripping off her shoes and socks, and rolling up her pants. Tossing her bag and shoes in the pram, she wheeled it next to the fountain, "Are you coming?"

There was a howl from deeper in the park; Charlie grinned, peeling off his shoes, "That was Sprink. I'll wager she's found the tot." He splashed his feet in the fountain's water next to hers, pulling his foot up; "50p. How much can you pick up?" He put the coin on the edge of the fountain, and scrabbled about with his toes as she groped through the slime with hers.

"I wish I was there," she complained softly.

"Never you worry, luv," Charlie squeezed her hand, "You can't be everyplace, let Sprink have her moment in the sun." He pulled up a foot, "10p. How you doing?"

"You're buying lunch, it seems," she replied.

------------------------  
_**Friday, June 22, 2001:  
London, **The Leaky Cauldron**: 09:43  
**_------------------------

"H'lo, Miss Wayne," Tom said, nodding down a side corridor as she entered from London. "We're all set for you in room two. Heard that you've been in a scrap, feel all right?"

"Not a hundred percent, but I'm sure a cup of your tea will help," she replied with a smile, as she entered the small room.

------------------------

"Mr. Griplink! How are you doing?" Mattie asked, giving the goblin a brief hug.

"Very well indeed, Miss Wayne; May I introduce a kinsman of mine, Mr. Sev MacAdam?"

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir," she said, giving the red-haired fellow a goblin-style two handed shake. It was difficult to tell with the mixture of wizarding and goblin blood, but he stood about five foot two, with slightly pointed ears, and appeared to be about forty. "If you're a fellow kinsman of this fellow," she added with a grin, "I know we'll get along famously."

"I certainly hope so, lassie," he said in a thick Scottish burr. "I've the greatest admiration for y' family, an' any disagreements we m' hae are strictly professional."

"I can certainly live with that," she agreed, before turning to greet the people Lady Sarah had in tow.

------------------------

"I can understand why the others are here," the Cuban said. "Arrowhead has existing research contracts with firms in Germany, Russia, and so forth." He leaned forward, "Why Cuba? Our technical base is nowhere near theirs."

"In a different way, Senor Martinez," Mattie replied. "Cuba can offer this partnership several things. May I be blunt?" She looked around the table, and then leaned forward toward the small man.

"First, I don't care about politics, which I leave to Lady Sarah. As we all know, and no offense to anyone, government is not nearly as ... efficient as business. In this case, that is enough to kill this project. We can tolerate a minimum of foot-dragging." She smiled briefly, "I believe the Russian term is a 'Hero Project'."

The Russian sucked in her breath as she continued, "Secondly, in exchange for Cuba's help, it will receive the full benefits of the other's research – Canadian fusion, Swiss gravitics, German and Russian experience in space and rocketry, Mexican chemistry. You can thumb your nose at the American embargo with our help, moving your people out of the 1950's."

"This sounds very attractive; Senorita Wayne, but I still do not understand what Cuba can offer."

"Cuba, along with Ecuador, which sits on the equator, can offer several things. Firstly, trained personnel. We will need trained engineers, but we will also need physicians. Legally, as a British corporation, Arrowhead's staffers would fall under the National Health Service. However, I want everyone living on the Moon, and in orbit, to have the best medical care available, no matter who signs their paychecks. That is why health and safety personnel will report to the Crown representative, and lunar companies, including Arrowhead, would pay the Crown taxes for that purpose. I think we can agree that health, safety, and legal matters properly belong to the government."

"What kind of taxes?" the German asked.

"We're still negotiating," Sheila Hawking said with a grin. "We've proposed a flat rate of five percent of sales, the American way of doing taxes is absurd. In any case, that's a matter for we lawyers, as are various treaties, copyright and patents, licensing agreements and so forth." She motioned to the blonde sitting next to her, "Christine and I will be more than happy to sit down with your legal attaché. For one thing, we'll need to set up some legal structures with a non-signatory nation like Ecuador regarding various space treaties."

"All very interesting, and we'll be happy to involve your people," Mattie said. "For now, Cuba offers other things we need: experience in hydroponics and 'green' technology, and a terrain that is similar to the moon, only without the craters."

The Cuban nodded warily as she continued, "In order to prove this new technology to the world, and other customers, we'll need test sites. It would be politically ... difficult ... to install pebble-bed reactors, or fusion power, in Cuba, but I don't think anyone can object to sunlight."

"Sunlight? How will solar power help our power problems, or reduce our imports of oil?"

"We put the solar equipment in orbit, senor, and beam the power down in microwaves. Cuba builds a rectenna, seven kilometers in diameter, which is a simple network of wires on posts three or four meters high. These wires connect to a concrete building in the center of the field, where an inverter converts the DC power to AC, and it's fed into your power grid." She smiled, "For political reasons, there should be a separate, sealed room where the UN environmental people can install monitoring equipment, but I see no reason why there couldn't be repeaters for your people and mine to take readings."

"How much power would this produce?" the small man took a sip of coffee, "What kind of environmental problems?"

"Current estimates are a gigawatt; it would be available year round, with the exception of about 45 minutes during each of the summer and winter solstices." She shrugged, "A matter of orbital mechanics, unfortunately. However, they should happen around midnight, so they can be planned for." Mattie took a sip of coffee herself, "As far as environmental, NASA's done quite a few studies, and it should be about the same radiation exposure as mowing your lawn on a hot summer day. You may want to put some cows, goats, and a greenhouse under the rectenna for study."

Senor Martinez studied her over his coffee cup. "I see the reason behind the meters and such, and the rates can be negotiated. We would share the data, and if we bury the wires, a hurricane should not bother the installation, except to knock down a few poles." She nodded, and he asked, "What else?"

"There is something that worries me, terrorism," and he nodded in agreement with her. "Ah, as we are connected to the few remaining 'liberation movements', you would like to know if a strike is being planned."

"Exactly," she replied, her glance flicking at a quiet, dark-haired woman. "Israel and the Mossad have deeper coverage in the Middle East than MI6 or the Russian FSS do. All I'm asking is that if you hear things regarding Arrowhead, or one of the NBC shipments heading for Port NIMBY, you inform us. We'll co-operate in setting up appropriate security."

"NBC?" Christine asked.

"Nuclear, Biological, Chemical," the Canadian said. "There are thousands of tons of hazardous waste that's been sitting aboot." He nodded, "Special recycling place, the name's a bit of a joke, eh?"

"Ja, one does not make mistakes with nuclear materials," the German agreed. He took a drink himself, "What else for our Cuban colleague?"

"A bullet train," she replied with a small grin, and Senor Martinez coughed. "Lawrence Livermore has a very nice design Arrowhead's licensed that I think would translate well between the Cuban and Lunar terrain. Both have absolutely flat areas, there are hills that correspond to the craters, and there are mountains in the Southeast that would be remarkably like FarSide." She smiled sweetly, "The tentative design has the track carrying both power and fiber optic cable for data, with magnetic levitation, we should be able to get 400 kph out of a track running around the perimeter of the island."

Senor Martinez coughed, "I cannot authorize such a project on my own. I must speak with the President. El Presidente will wish to know why there is such hurry."

"I will tell you, and this must be shared only with Senor Castro. I cannot risk a leak, or worse, panic, but I will tell you, for his ears only." She looked in his eyes as she asked, "Do I have your word, senor?"

He nodded, "You do."

She cast a privacy spell, "On April 13, 20... "

------------------------

After the meeting, Mr. MacAdam said, "Wait jus' a minute lassie. I've a few questions f' ye." She sat back down, he asked, "Why're ye buildin' a railroad all the way aroun' the Moon when you've only got one city (if ye can call it tha') planned oot on the whole ball o' cheese?"

"So when it's time to expand, we'll have the infrastructure in place to do it. There's also more beside Port Oldridge, there's Port NIMBY and the South Pole water plant. Transportation is a headache, though."

"But lassie, won't the maintenance costs mean you cannae afford expanding? C'mon, where's the return on investment?"

"There's very little track maintenance, as there's no weathering or oxidation, just thermal expansion and contraction, which is planned in. It just sits there and transmits power and data. Besides, Arrowhead's projected ROI is more than double the Dow Jones Industrial average."

"If you weren't subsidizin' money pits like railroads to nowhere, it'd be a helluva lot higher now wouldn't it?"

"Arrowhead doesn't exist just to make money. It's purpose is to help build the future for the entire human race."

"Well lassie, thassa noble enough purpose to get ya inta Heaven, but the bills still havta be paid here on Earth first."

"True, but this is a long-term investment. That's why we've issued these bonds, have government investment, and why we have people like you, to make the numbers work."

"Aye, lassie. I want tae see more data, thoo. Th' investors _are_ why I'm here."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, June 23, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 8:02 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"Arthur! E-mail!"

Running upstairs, Arthur went through the elaborate decryption procedure for the letter from Mattie. Once it cleared, he sat back to read it over, then clicked the icon to print it. Closing the email, he shut the Mac down, returning to breakfast to see the table covered with waffles, syrup and sections of newspaper. Taking his seat again, he cleared his throat, "The email was from Mattie. She sent an explanation of the moon claim."

"This I'd like to hear," Henry said, closing the sports section.

"The claim is in the crater Grimaldi; near the equator and close to the western border with the Far Side," he said. "Pass me the envelope she sent, would you?" Elena found it next to the phone books, and passed it over as he cleared a space. He flipped through it, finding a section. "Here we are. The topographic map shows a major hill, several kilometers high and wide, along with some vents that are outgassing a vapor. Bill, wash your hands before you handle these." His younger brother got up, washing syrup off at the kitchen sink. It was passed around, as Arthur started to read, "I'm going to paraphrase a bit, now."

_22 June, 2001 _

_Arthur & the Mortons:  
Please keep this information private. _

_I'm sure you're wondering why I've sent you a land claim on the moon. I have my reasons, as I'm sure Arthur and Julie have told you by now, I'm working hard on colonizing the moon. I have a self-imposed deadline of 2025 for this, but more on that later... _

_Why this particular chunk, you ask? Since the surface scans are public knowledge, why this particular crater? Aside from other motives, I'll point you to the chemical spectroscopy of the vapors: NH3, also known as ammonia. _

_Big deal, you say. I reply, yes, a very big deal, when you consider that crater has been outgassing for millions of years, and it's been outgassing from various ammonia deposits. Very large, very deep deposits, and that's not even touching the kilometers-thick meteoroid itself that it's sitting next to, one of the few carbonaceous chondrites that I know of on the moon. (The others are FarSide.) _

_I can see from here you are unimpressed. I have two words for you: Black Gold, also known as Texas Tea. Your claim has minerals the moon is very scarce in (hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon, etc.), and I can't be accused of playing favorites, as I waited a full 24 hours for the public to stake a claim off Arrowhead's website before I put a deposit down for you. _

"That claim is worth billions," Misty whispered, reading the site survey.

Teela replied, "How do we get to it? How do we take advantage of it? Is there any more to the letter?"

"Um, yeah," Arthur replied, taking a gulp of milk. He continued: _I'm sure someone practical like Arthur has asked... _

"Hah!" Teela said.

Arthur cleared his throat, _"...Like Arthur has asked how we get there, how we live, and how we cash in. As you may know, Arrowhead has been financing our reverse-engineering of different alien technologies. I'm doing this for two simple reasons: so WE'LL know how, and licensing costs would quickly drain me dry, despite the financial backing of several countries. Research is also underway in still more countries like Cuba, Germany, Poland, Russia, Canada, and Mexico. You'll notice the US is not on that list. In any case, the Swiss have a working antigravity plate; current capacity is five kilos OVER what the plate itself weighs. They're working on reducing the power draw and increasing the capacity. Even if the plates are in series, we should be able to lift off Earth." _

Arthur cleared his throat; taking another gulp of milk. "Let's see... Yada, yada, yada..."

Elena waved her fork, "Yada, yada?"

"Techno babble," he replied. "You qualify for astronaut status at a hundred klicks altitude, transit times, yada, and yada." He continued to scan the letter, finally saying, "Ah, here we go." He read, "..._plan on a few days at the end of the month staking the claim – I've got another few chores there, and my brother Dick needs to stake his claim south of yours. Two of you (one of legal age, though), and Teela, I'd like to get your artist's eye on this! Bring your camera and sketchpad!  
Mattie _

Arthur drank more milk to soothe his throat, looked up and said, "Teela, I know you want to go. Who else?"

"It would be nice if Misty and I could go, but if it's land, Dad should come too," Henry said. "What about spacesuits?"

"Mattie was wearing what she called a skinsuit," Julie offered. She looked at her brother, "Arthur, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure. She admits having an ulterior motive, is this a billion-dollar bribe for some reason, or something else?" He glanced at his younger sister, "She's awfully good at keeping secrets," and she nodded. Their brothers and sisters traded looks as he stood, "I'll email her, ask her to stop by. For now, I tell her Dad, Hank, Misty and Teela?"

Julie followed him out, "Arthur!" He turned, and she asked, "Mattie's a ship captain, right?" He nodded, and her face split into a grin. Whispering, "She can marry Hank and Misty, then! Ask her!"

Arthur regarded her, then a slow grin split his face, "I'll ask, but keep it quiet. Teela only, all right?"

------------------------


	3. 24 – 30 June, 2001

For disclaimers, please see chapter one.

------------------------  
3: 24 – 30 June, 2001  
------------------------  
_**Sunday, June 24, 2001:  
London, **The Leaky Cauldron**: 09:43  
**_------------------------

"H'lo, Miss Wayne," Tom said, nodding down a side corridor as she entered from London. "We've set room five for you; we'll have another pot o' tea in a minute."

"Thank you, Tom," she replied with a smile. She took a deep breath, "Is Mr. MacAdam there?"

"Aye, dinnae worry, lass, you'll do fine."

------------------------

The meeting room was the Cauldron's largest, holding about sixty people. The background conversation dipped a bit when Mattie entered, changing to wolvish for the most part. Amy and Sprink broke off from their conversations to greet her, Mattie asking Sprink with a grin, "How's the hero?"

"Hero?" Amy asked, as Sprink stammered something.

"She helped to find a lost little girl," Mattie said with a grin. She gave Sprink a hug as she blushed crimson.

"Let's get the meeting, um..." Sprink stammered.

"Amy, Sprink, there's one thing I want to mention," Mattie said, turning all business. "In this room, for this meeting, we're not exactly competitors, but we're looking out for our own interests. If that means you let the wolf out, then be assured I'll be just as big a shark."

Sprink paled a bit under her tan, when Amy barked something short, then offered her hand, "Good luck to you, then. Florean's afterward?"

"Sounds good," she replied, shaking. "Good luck to you, too," she told Amy, then caught Sprink's arm. "Just a minute," and looked her in the eye. "Hey," she said softly. "This is us, y'know. Best buds, watch each other's backs? Do you understand what this is about?"

"Just that I'm gonna be competing with you," Sprink replied, a touch bitterly.

Mattie raised her chin, looking her in the eye. "You ever play Quidditch with your sister?" Sprink reluctantly nodded, "You still love her, don't you? It's just a game, after all, and you do your best. Who won those games?"

"She did, usually."

"Because she was older, and had played longer. She didn't always win, did she?"

"Na, I won a couple times," she admitted with a ghost of a smile. Mattie grinned too, "Hey, in here, I'm your older sister. I still love you, I want you to succeed. I wouldn't be doing this unless I thought you could succeed. That doesn't mean I'm going to give you a meal ticket, this is just a bite at the apple. You'll feel better about yourself if you _earn_ that apple, and every day, there's another chance to do so. Business is the greatest game in the world; you're not going to win every day, just like I don't win every day." She thumped her gently, "The key thing is to learn from your mistakes, so you increase your odds of getting that apple. One of the things I learned is to find people you trust, and ask their advice. That's why I asked Mr. Griplink to sit in, I trust his financial advice."

"'S not a pot of gold, is it?"

"No, you _work_ for that pot of gold, even if it's not with your hands, but with your brain." She thumped Sprink's chest again gently, "I could have set things up so that I ran everything; I owned everything." Punctuating every word with a thump, she added, "This way is better." She smiled, "Feel better?"

"Yeah, and after the meeting?"

"Floreans?" They grinned, and Sprink moved off, Griplink moving over, "Very nice, Miss Wayne," he said quietly. "Reminds me of a talk I gave my son. You're coming along very nicely, now if you'll excuse me?" He moved over to the werewolves, another goblin with him.

------------------------

Mr. Griplink tapped on a teacup, the discussions died down. "Thank you all for coming. This is an exploratory meeting between Arrowhead and the werewolves of London. I believe Miss Wayne would like to make a brief statement. Miss Wayne?"

Mattie stood, smoothing down her suit's skirt, "Thank you, Mr. Griplink. I find myself with a problem, one that I hope you can help me solve. As you are aware, I'm in the process of organizing the colonization of the moon, and I face a challenge in transportation. Quite honestly, without secure, reliable transport from Earth's surface to orbit, and to the moon and points in between, this project, and Earth's future, will fail." She gazed at them, "When I contacted Amy, I proposed that the werewolves of London, and others, form a corporation that could contract with Arrowhead and other firms. I presume that's what you've been discussing?"

"Partially," Professor Lupin said. "You haven't been using a translation spell?"

"No, that wouldn't be honorable, sir. You wanted those conversations private, I respect that."

That caused a ripple of discussion, Remus barking something as Mattie waited patiently. There was silence as they watched her standing calmly, Remus barking something else. He nodded, "Tell us more, we have indeed been discussing forming a company, but we need more information."

She nodded, "Certainly. Mr. Griplink has brought along a colleague of his that you can discuss certain business matters with." She flicked a glance at the goblin, who nodded, "I believe he is working _pro bono_ at the moment, which is something you need to discuss with him. Let me outline my problems, how I believe you can help solve them, and a few suggestions. First, there is the problem of moving people and cargo from the planet's surface to Low Earth Orbit. Currently, a firm comprised of German, Polish, and Russian engineers, headquartered in Warsaw, is completing design work on surface, lunar, and cislunar vehicles. They are using Swiss antigravity plates, and they'll need..."

------------------------  
_**Sunday, June 24, 2001:  
London, **Florean's Ice Cream**: 13:38  
**_------------------------

"That was exhausting," Sprink commented, "I don't know how you do it all the time."

"You don't," Mattie replied, nibbling on her vanilla single-scoop cone. "You only have meetings like that when you're setting something up." She glanced at Amy, "Want my two knuts worth of suggestions? You may have already discussed this, I don't know."

Amy waved her spoon, "I've put in mine, based on what I've learned from you. Please, it can't hurt."

"'Kay, I'd involve non-werewolves. You're going to have family and friends want to get involved, and you're going to need to keep operating during the full moons and sunths when you lot aren't available." She took another nibble of vanilla, "I'd look into the vampires – a lot of them have money, they might be interested in investing."

"Hadn't thought of vampires," Sprink commented, asking "What else?"

"The most even tempered people you can find for customer service," Mattie grinned. "You're going to have people give impossible demands, wanting to get from London to the moon in an hour, bringing 'absolutely vital' stuff like two hundred kilos of their kid's comic books, which put them over the weight limit."

She took a last bite of her cone, then washing her hands and face in the fountain. Smoothing her skirt as she retook her seat, "This isn't an exclusive contract with Arrowhead; you're going to have to set competitive rates for cargo, passengers, and immigrants for all over cislunar space." She took her spoon, and tapped at the table, "If you're going to move cargo or passengers from points A to B, you're going to need to do it at a low enough rate that you can still make a profit, but that your customers can also make one. That means a long-term, flat rate contract for steady customers, or a higher volume. Remember that you're going to need to negotiate with companies like FedEx and unions like the Teamsters." She tossed the spoon down, "I'd suggest an in-house legal staff, and remember; no business makes a profit in their first few years."

"Why have different rates for passengers and immigrants?" Amy asked.

"The governments will be subsidizing emigration to the moon," Mattie replied. "They'll cover the cost of a claim; their citizens agree to work the claim for between five and seven years, depending on the government. They've got a one-way ticket, which reduces your costs, which means that you can fill your holds with exports."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, June 24, 2390:  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Yates home: 19:03  
_**------------------------

Her brother knocked on the open door of Cassidy's room, and she raised the pillow off her head. Smiling, she sat up, sitting tailor-fashion on the bed, grabbing her old stuffed wolf off the bed and hugging it tight.

"This a bad time?" he asked. "You haven't said more than two words to anyone since you came back. Care to talk to big brother about it?"

"I'm still deciding if I'm mad at Mom and Dad," she admitted. "I could use a second opinion."

"What about big brother?" he asked, taking a seat on the foot of the bed, and noticing the tan wand on her bedside table. "That's not the one you used at Hogwarts."

"No, it's actually Grandma Mattie's," she replied, scooting down to give him room, then handing it to him. "I kinda borrowed it when a Guardian came to interrupt the Leaving Feast back in her time."

"You _knew_ Grandma Mattie, and Grandpa Arthur, and the others?"

"Primarily Grandma Mattie, and Aunt Anne, when I time-jumped back then," she said, growing quiet. "They were, um, third-years when I knew them." Shaking her head, she grinned slightly, "Grandma was a real jet, even then, but Anne was a very quiet type. I actually _met_ Minerva McGonagall, before she married!"

"Okay, you've got me hooked," her brother said, unsealing his boots and dropping them on the floor with a 'thunk'. He folded his legs under, adding, "We knew you could time-jump, of course, but almost, what, four hundred years? The last we knew was your raceabout disappeared from scan, and then you called us from the train out of Oldridge months later."

"A bit more than that; and it's funny you should mention Port Oldridge," she grinned. "I met the real Headmistress Oldridge, only it was way back in the 14th century..."

------------------------  
_**Monday, June 25, 2001:  
London, **The Leaky Cauldron**: 08:30  
**_------------------------

"Good morning, Tom," Mattie told the wizard. "Is Anne Bundy here yet?"

"Good morning, Miss Wayne," he replied with a smile. "You're here so much I'm surprised you don't buy in." He motioned with his head, "She's in th' loo, y've summer school?"

"Yes, potions with Professor Snape today and Wednesday," she agreed, motioning to her school uniform. "Tuesday and Thursday are Charms and Transfiguration, and we'll probably sneak in a History class here or there." She turned as Anne approached, "Morning."

"Good morning to you, also," Anne replied. She smoothed her school skirt, "I still think the uniforms far too brief, but 'different century, different styles'." She eyed Mattie, "Our experience doth give a different perspective to history, does it not?"

She hitched her bag over her shoulder, "It certainly does, and it makes it much easier to understand. I do miss them, and I wish there was a way to contact them, but it would be risky." She motioned to the floo, "After you."

"Thank you," Anne said, taking a pinch of floo powder. "I too wish there was a way to contact them, and I understand the risks now much more than I did then." With a flick of her wrist, the flames turned green, and she shouted, "Hogwarts!"

------------------------

"Good morning," Professor Snape told the two girls. "We shall start with a review of the potions we completed this past term, although I understand you had planned to journey to the moon at the end of this week." He looked dourly upon them, "What did you wish to do there?"

"We need to stake two claims, take core samples, and install some equipment, sir," Mattie replied.

"I see. I will permit this as long as I receive copies of the sample results," he continued, "In any case, the first potion we need to discuss is..."

------------------------  
**_Monday, June 25, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 08:30 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Arthur, e-mail!"

He whistled, and they stopped for a minute. "Why don't we take a few, and I'll see what that is?" he asked, tossing the football back to Hank as Little Bill and Julie collected tennis balls for Misty. "Bill's getting pretty good on _Impedimenta_, I think after lunch we can work on the banishing charm."

"Does that mean what I think it does?" Misty asked, as Arthur disappeared into the house.

"We'll put up cushioning charms so you won't be hurt," Julie replied, dumping tennis balls into the levitating bucket Misty was using to volley at them.

------------------------

Arthur sat on the relocated picnic bench, glass of crushed ice and lemonade next to him, and read to the others:

_25 June, 2001_

_Hello, Mortons!  
Thanks for getting back to me. So far, it looks like our manifest is Alfred (of course!), Anne and I, Vasily from Moscow, Dick & Tomas will be coming along with the four of you. Therefore, please send exact measurements (not 'size six', but in inches or centimeters) for your skinsuits. By the way, that's without underwear, in your birthday suits. We need from the toes to the neck, all of them, not just your leg, arm; inseam measurements – the more data, the better the fit and the more comfortable. You'll be wearing them for several days, and yes, they do handle 'biological processes'. I've attached a basic datasheet on them (Anne modeled the pictures). _

_Teela, I don't know if you have a digital camera or not. NASA had to retrofit the film cameras Apollo used to work on the lunar surface, I've sent you a gift certificate to get one, or supplies, as needed. _

_The plan is for the Yates to pick you up about 03:00 Friday the 29th, we scoot for London, someone from Queen's Customs stamps your passports as 'transient', a fellow from the Ecuadorian embassy (they're handling the 'Lunar Interests Section') stamps a visa, and we're off. You **must** have a valid passport to go – does Misty?_

Arthur looked up and took a gulp of lemonade. Misty looked thoughtful for a moment; nodding, "I've got one."

"How much is the gift certificate?" Teela asked.

Arthur looked at the certificate, "Five hundred," he replied, handing it to his sister.

"There was an ad in the Sunday paper!" she said, running off to get it. Arthur took another drink, and resumed:

_Once there, we set up some equipment on the lunar equator, at the prime meridian. We're bringing along some test vehicles, so you can do a bit of driving and flying. Vasily is along as a test engineer – they've tried to make them as safe and easy to use as possible. I'm told that if you can drive a car, you can drive a trike. _

"Got it!" Teela called, running out with the blue insert. "You guys up for some shopping?"

"Take one of us with you," Arthur replied. "And your cell phones, just in case."

"Yo, Hank!" Steve, one of the neighbors called, coming around the corner of the house, Bill quietly canceling the levitation spell on the bucket of tennis balls. "What say to a friendly basketball game, and you can tell us about that ship we saw?" His dark skin rippled with muscles, as Arthur took a final swig of lemonade, passing the email to Julie for shredding. "I'm in; the girls have some shopping to do. Give us a call if you need us. Bill?"

------------------------  
**_Monday, June 25, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio, Morse Road: 10:49 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"It takes standard AA batteries?" Teela asked again, as the blue-shirted sales-guy bagged her new camera.

He smiled, handing her the receipt, "Sure does. Need some?"

"We've got a lot at home," Julie interjected. "Sorry."

"No problem, thanks for shopping with us." He gave a final smile, then turned his attention to the next customer, "Hello, my name is Jason..."

"Nice guy," Misty said as they entered the mall proper, but Teela shook her head, "I didn't like the ring through his eyebrow. I mean, I'm all for personal expression, but I've never seen an eyebrow look better with a hole poked through it."

"Miss Morton, you're coming with us," a fellow in a dark suit said, edging close to Teela.

"And who might you be?" Misty asked.

"You don't need to know that."

"If you're law enforcement, show us a badge and a warrant, otherwise leave us be," she replied.

"I said, you're coming with us," he replied, Julie nodding to a maintenance corridor, "In there."

"Works for us," a second fellow in an identical dark suit replied. Misty wrinkled her nose, "You guys must be government; you buy off the rack."

"Clothing allowance," the first said, adding, "Why don't we get some fresh air?" He shoved the panic bar, emerging into a small area with a dumpster and random trash. Julie spun, drawing her wand and shouting, "_Stupefy_!" at one while at the same time Teela hit the other with her bag. Turning, Julie stunned the second fellow, knocking him out.

"Nice, wish I could do it," Teela said, looking at her torn blue bag. Julie flicked her wand, muttering '_reparo_', while grinning at her sister.

"Let's see what we can find out about these two," Misty said, picking one up by the shoulders and trying to drag him behind the large steel dumpster. With a flick, Julie levitated them both, while Teela dug her cell phone from her purse. Julie grinned, casting '_ravelous sticus_', causing their cheap suits to disintegrate, binding them as Misty collected their equipment.

"Well, they're not government," the older girl said, looking over the collection. "Can you do a truth spell?"

"Sure, thug one or thug two?" Julie asked.

------------------------

The ringing of Hank's cell phone interrupted the neighborhood 'shirts 'n' skins' basketball game. They took a break as Mrs. Mason came out with iced tea, and Arthur nodded in gratitude as Hank moved away to take the call.

"So, Arthur," she asked, "What can you tell us about this ship we saw? Rumor has it that it was an actual starship."

He gulped tea, "Thank you, Mrs. Mason. Yeah, it belongs to my... girlfriend, she picked it up from somewhere, and Luthor wants it."

"Why not give it to him?" Pete asked, taking a glass of tea and running an ice cube over his sweaty chest.

"He wants it for himself, not for the country, or the world, but for himself," Arthur replied. "Mattie doesn't agree, and she's got a plan to ... well, you'll see. In any case, she wants to spread out the technology, help everyone out." He took another gulp of tea, "I know the Swiss have already reverse-engineered antigravity tech, the Canadians are working on fusion power, but Luthor wants all that for himself."

"Didn't think that ship looked like the _Enterprise_," Steve said, "So there's a chance, a real, honest-to-god chance; that we can go..." His index finger pointed skyward, at the visible moon, and Arthur nodded.

"Where do I sign up?" Pete asked, hunger in his voice.

Mrs. Mason said, "You boys will keep this quiet, we're going to have the Mortons over for drinks tomorrow night. Your parents will let you know what we find out."

"We'll let you know," Arthur said, as Hank came back.

"Goons tried to kidnap the girls when they were out shopping," he said, "Not government, the girls are fine, they kicked the goon's butts, left them behind a dumpster." He stole the ball from Pete, dribbling it, "Naked behind that dumpster," he added.

Concealing his concern, Arthur added,"I love my sisters, just don't piss them off," as he received Hank's pass. "Now, we were in the process of kicking the skin's butts."

"Like hell," Pete replied, as the game resumed.

------------------------  
**_Monday, June 25, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio: 18:48 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Stupid fools!" The boss said. "I should have left you with the police in the drunk tank! I send you out on a simple snatch job; you come back naked and with your identities compromised." He snorted again, muttering, "Idiots!" as the door slammed behind him.

"So what are you gonna do?" another goon asked the two.

"Revenge," one answered, a meaty fist slamming into his palm.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, June 26, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Mason Home: 19:17 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Bill, Maggie, how good of you to come!" Carol Mason said, "Jim's outside with the others, can I get you a drink?"

"A beer sounds good," Bill Morton said; joining the other neighborhood husbands on the porch as his wife gravitated to the kitchen and a glass of wine.

------------------------

"Bill!" Jim Mason called, "Pull up a chair and a cold one, what's your poison?"

"Wouldn't say no to a beer," Bill admitted, accepting the cold stein as he took a seat. Pete Sanchez passed him the pretzels, Bill taking a few before passing them on. Pete said, "Y'know, Bill, my boy came in with the wildest damn story the other night, that your boy Arthur's girlfriend has a damned starship." He snorted, "I hadda ask him what drugs he was on."

Bill took a gulp of beer, "It's true, she does. Picked it up over in England, I don't really know all the details, but my kids have never lied to us." He munched on a pretzel, "If they can't talk about something, they'll tell us that," he added, looking around at the other fathers in the dimming light.

"Good way to go," Jim said. "Y'know, my boy said the same thing, and that there was a way, a possibility, that we could..." he pointed up.

"Possible," Bill agreed, adding, "It's still early, details are still being worked out, but yeah, it's possible." He looked around, "Why, you guys interested?"

"Oh, GOD, yeah!" Jim said, "The chance to... oh, yeah!"

"Madre dos Dios, yes!" Pete added.

------------------------

"So, Maggie, dear," Jill started, "Peter came home yesterday with an interesting story, a story about a starship." She leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her wineglass.

"I cannot tell you everything, I don't know it myself," Maggie admitted. "You know of my son's friend, Mattie Wayne?" Heads nodded, "Last year, she suggested that we form a family corporation; a few days ago, she sent us a deed to a land claim." She took a sip of wine, "I cannot tell you more."

Carol Mason asked, "Mattie Wayne, as in the Gotham Waynes?" Maggie nodded, "The billionaire Waynes, the ones that _own_ Gotham City? They sent you a land claim? WHERE?"

Jill asked, "As your friendly neighborhood accountant, I understand that you can't reveal secrets. However, I hope you don't mind if we do a bit of guessing." She tapped a french-tipped nail against her wineglass, "Peter said that Miss Wayne owned a starship, and I did a quick bit of research on the Internet." The other wives looked at her as she said, "A company called Arrowhead Investments is based in London, I happened upon their prospectus. It was a _most_ interesting read." She took a sip of wine, "Not only the research contracts, but the press releases, which I haven't seen a whisper of here."

"Research in what?" Carol asked.

"Little things like antigravity, fusion power, and warp drives," Jill replied. "Now, I'm not an egghead, but I wonder why Europe is benefiting from this, and the US isn't."

"Because Luthor wants it all for himself," Maggie replied.

"Which explains why there's such a diverse group of investors," Jill explained. "The Russians, along with the Cubans and the Germans?" She took a sip of wine, "Then we come to land claims. Miss Wayne has claimed ten percent of the lunar surface, and is selling land." She looked at Maggie, "Including a certain crater called Grimaldi."

------------------------

"So, Bill, my wife dug up some very interesting information," Pete said, passing the refilled stein back as the bug zapper sparked, killing another insect. "Now, I'm just a regular guy. I don't know that much about real estate law, I'm a criminal attorney. Still, I had a few minutes, and I do have a Lexis account. Going way back to the 1800's, Ohio law has it that a claim has to be surveyed." He resumed his seat, "I presume English law is similar, which means a certain crater called Grimaldi needs to be looked over."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, June 28, 2001:  
Ohio State University, Evans Laboratory (Chemistry): 13:08 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Hey, beautiful," Hank greeted his fiancée outside the building as Steve lounged nearby. "Can I buy you lunch?"

"Better offer than he made me," Steve said with a grin as they walked past some bushes.

"You're coming with us, Morton," the first goon said, adding to Steve, "Get lost, boy."

"_What_ did you call me?"

"Oh, crap," the second, slightly smarter goon said, adding, "Just get lost, son, this doesn't concern you."

"I called you _boy_," the first goon said, smirking.

"Say what?" another student said, as a couple more stopped.

"You heard him," Steve said, "Me and my home boys here just chillin', and these dudes go all klan on us."

"Forget that, dude," a couple of white guys said. "That ain't right." Textbooks and backpacks were dropped, and knuckles were cracked as Misty moved off with some other girls.

------------------------  
**_Friday, June 29, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson place traffic circle: 02:55 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The small white ship ghosted over the trees, silently landing at the apex of the traffic circle. The ramp lowered as Mattie came down, stopping as she saw the people in bathrobes and slippers standing in their front lawns, watching silently.

"They want to come," Bill Morton said uneasily.

"I want them to," Mattie replied quietly, "Just not now." She raised her voice, "We've got a few minutes, anyone interested in a peek?"

"Hell, yeah!" Jim's voice carried through the darkness.

------------------------

"All present and accounted for, Alfred? No stowaways?"

"No, captain," he replied. "Shall I lift ship?"

"Gently, please," and she waved at the people on the ground as the _Yates_ hovered, landing gear retracting with a thump. Gently and silently, she slid upward.

------------------------  
**_Friday, June 29, 2001:  
Low Earth Orbit: 08:18 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Welcome to space, everyone," Mattie said, and people grinned and applauded when she added, "Under ESA regulations, you are now officially astronauts. Appropriate pins and certificates await you with your skinsuits. Ladies, cabin two, gentlemen will please use cabin three to change. As a registered starship, we operate under English naval law; please obey the commands of Anne as your first officer, Alfred as Owner, and myself as your Captain."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n Mattie," Dick said as he moved to join the guys in cabin three.

------------------------  
**_Friday, June 29, 2001:  
Luna, Sinus Medii: 18:17 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

With a thump, the landing gear deployed, and motion ceased. Mattie entered the common room to announce, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the moon." A cheer went up, people hugged each other. Alfred displayed a map as she continued, "About two hundred kilometers east, and twelve north, is the Apollo Eleven site. We are about fifty meters north of the lunar equator, Earth is directly overhead. Who's ready for their first moonwalk?"

Teela raised her hand, "Excuse me, but can we visit Tranquility Base?"

"We can visit, but we can't walk there, it's a UN historic site. We need to stay at least half a kilometer away." Mattie grinned, "After we get the work done here. Vasily?"

"Ready to go, Comrade Captain!"

------------------------

"I think that's got it," Bill Morton said, stowing the wrench. "I don't have much experience with gas turbines."

"Not too different than a jet engine, Comrade," the burly Russian said. He climbed on board the experimental forklift, and cranked the engine. With a vibration, it started, Vasily adding, "It is silent here, on Earth it is a loud one. Please disconnect the solar cells." He revved the engine, entering the hold to fetch another bit of cargo.

Bill clapped his son on the shoulder, "Ever think you'd be fixing a forklift on the moon?"

"Na. Ever think you'd get to see that?" he asked his dad, pointing straight up at Earth hanging overhead. He squinted, adding, "Looks like a storm is coming south over Canada."

"Oh, man, this is cool!" Misty said, driving the trencher toward crater Bruce. Resembling a farm tractor, a set of teeth dug two meters down, microwaves fusing the trench walls into a solid mass. The power cable unspooled behind the trencher, a plow arrangement towed behind the cable filled in the trench. It slowed to a stop and Misty called, "Battery time!"

"I got it!" Teela called, popping a wheelie on the trike. She disconnected a battery pack from the solar charger, charging off. Bill Morton snorted, "Kids."

"In that we are agreed, Comrade Morton," Vasily said over the radio. "Ah, my Svetlana wished to come, but she could not. Comrade Captain, where do you wish the big light?"

"Where my brother is assembling the frame, please, Comrade Danilov," she replied, adding, "Svetlana is welcome to come after she has the baby. I did not wish to risk their health."

------------------------  
**_Friday, June 29, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 20:27 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The phone rang, Elena picking it up, "Morton residence, Elena speaking."

There was a pause, then "Hi, honey. There's a three second delay, but I'm standing on the moon's surface, looking up at Earth. Can I talk to your mother?"

"Sure, dad!" Elena replied, running into the living room, where her mother was sitting with neighbors, "Mom, Dad's calling from the moon!"

"William, please tell me you're all right!"

There was a pause, then "Everyone's fine, honey. There's a three second delay, due to distance, but everyone's fine. We've got our chores done here at the prime meridian; we're going to fly west to Grimaldi. Are Misty's folks there?"

Maggie handed the phone over, and sat back, telling the group, "They're safe, they're all safe, they'll be flying west to Grimaldi." She leaned over the newly-purchased lunar map on the coffee table, tapping the junction of the equator and the prime meridian, "That's where they are."

"Never thought I'd see the day," Jim said over the rain pounding on the roof.

"I know," Pete said, looking up from his legal pad. "We're agreed on the 'Grimaldi Crater Homeowner's Association?" he asked.

"Miss Wayne has a 30 percentstake in that," Jill said, and Pete nodded. Checking his pad, he moved on to the next item, "The circumference of the inner crater is 450 kilometers, give or take. Now, Miss Wayne has people interested in leasing a section or two." He grinned, "The lunar truckers, I understand. Still, if we divide that perimeter by 720, leaving each of us half a degree, that's still over half a kilometer stretch for each of us to build on."

"Don't forget, there's several hundred meters vertically to play with," Carol added. "Plenty of room for expansion. However, what we need to do is to decide what each of us, including our kids, can bring to the table."

"I don't know with all these meters and kilometers and such," Maria Mastrianni fretted. "What's wrong with feet and pounds?"

"We'll have neighbors from all over the world," Carol said gently. "We don't need to be exact here, we're just doing planning. If it helps, a meter is a bit more than a yard; a kilometer is a bit more than half a mile, so each of us has about five hundred yards of frontage to build on, and about as much vertically. Does that help?"

Maria looked thoughtful, "That's a lot of room."

Pete added, "That's right. One reason I was hoping Al would be here... where is he, by the way?"

"He's watching the Mets in Atlanta."

"I knew there was a good reason," Pete grinned. "One thing I'd like to talk to him about is that while Carol's an architect, Al's the one that builds the houses, and I think a community needs a handyman."

"Especially for those of us that can't figure out plumbing," Carol added, looking fondly at her husband. "In any case, the Brits that are looking to rent from us are used to feet and pounds, but they also use meters and such. However, the Russians and the Germans use meters, so we need to have a common system." He shrugged, "The rest of the world uses meters, so we're outvoted."

"I think that there's always a need for accountants and lawyers," Jill said. "I don't think there would be a formal school system for the first few generations. Therefore, home schooling, but it might be a case of the teacher coming to the students."

"I don't know," Jim replied. "Universities have remote courses now, and I understand there's plenty of data capacity planned. There would probably be a lot of 'work from home', with the occasional site visit needed."

"I'll put a question mark next to that," he said. "Next item, what kind of taxes do we want to impose on ourselves as an association, and how do we do it? I understand there's already bankers involved, and I'm sure there's going to be a hot market for development. What do we want to do regarding..."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, June 30, 2001:  
Luna, Crater Grimaldi: 06:00 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Big Ben woke the sleeping crew, the speakers announcing, "Good morning, it is six o'clock in London, time for the BBC World News. Yesterday, the Prime Minister announced..."

Vasily muttered a Russian curse, rolling over in his sleeping bag. The news clicked off, Alfred saying, "You needn't call me that, Mr. Danilov."

"Sorry, Comrade Alfred," the big Russian said, sitting up in the common room. He nudged Bill, "Comrade Morton, another beautiful day, da?"

"Da, er, yes, Mr. Danilov," Bill said, groping around for his glasses. Vasily found them and handed them over, Bill nodding his thanks.

"Good morning, Comrade Danilov, Mr. Morton," Mattie said, coming out of the Captain's cabin with Anne. "Sorry about the rough accommodations," she added, giving them a hand up. Bill waved it off, "We were fine, we both snore enough to keep each other awake."

"Good morning, Mr. Danilov," Misty said, giving him a peck on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind, standing in for my father in our morning ritual."

"He is a lucky man, then, to have such a beautiful daughter. Would you stand in for my Svetlana in return?" Misty blushed, and Vasily kissed her gently on her forehead, whispering a phrase in Russian. "It means, 'Go with God, my love.'"

"Oh. My. God," Bill Morton said, looking up at the hill containing the buried meteoroid. "How tall is that thing?"

"Seven and a half kilometers, give or take," Mattie replied. "Breakfast first. Mr. Danilov, we've got genuine Russian kasha if you'd like some."

------------------------

"If we divide, we shall get more done," Anne said. "Therefore, the Captain shall go with Mr. Morton to stake the claim in the flyer, whilst..."

Mattie raised a finger, "My brother has more experience flying, and a helicopter license. He should go with Mr. Morton."

"I did not know." She looked at Dick and Bill, who traded looks and nodded. "Since we are in communication with all, we can rush to another's aid if needful. Therefore, Henry and Misty can cap the vents to the south, the Captain and her brother to the west, while Mr. Danilov and Teela work to the east. Is that agreeable to all?"

------------------------

"Here we are, Bill," Dick said, "Due north; let me find a place to land."

"No magnetic deviation?" he asked, as the flyer landed in a place about twenty meters across.

"Nope, no lava flow underground. Buckle up," Dick replied, passing him a pair of safety tethers. "We need to get as close as we can, then we can belay to the right point."

"Just like a bosun's chair," Bill replied, clipping the GPS unit and other equipment to his belt.

------------------------

"How is everyone doing?" Misty called hours later, "We've got these southern vents capped and leading to a storage tank. Should we go east?"

"We've got most of the circle staked, with just northwest left," Bill replied. "Alfred, how are the transponders?"

"Working well, Mr. Morton. Mr. Danilov, your status?"

"Good, Comrade Alfred, although the rock flung off the blades of the cutter is doing terrible damage to the protective screen, and my helmet is scratched."

"Please come and replace your helmet, Mr. Danilov. We will devise something for the cutting blades."

------------------------

"The machine has a poor design," Vasily said, as he examined the damaged helmet. "Worse, it is _my_ design." He sighed, "This is why we are here, to test these things. Remotely operated, perhaps? What about moving the spoil?"

"Remotes are simple enough," Dick said, as the guys huddled with the Russian engineer. "Move the control cable along with the power cable, and..."

Mattie sighed, moving into the flight deck with the other girls, flopping down in the command chair. Anne took the helm, while Teela sketched, and Misty sat, rather delicately, on the floor. Teela asked, "Inserts bothering you, too?"

"One becomes adapted to them," Anne replied. "What shall we do with Mr. Danilov?"

"That scared me," Mattie said, jumping up and beginning to pace. She motioned for Misty to take the chair, who moved over as she paced, "You've only got ten seconds before you lose consciousness in vacuum, Teela, you were closest, could you have..."

"Nope, and even if I could have gotten there, the only thing I could have tried was to slap my glove over a hole," she replied, "These gloves aren't exactly air-tight, either."

Misty looked up, "I've got an idea. Alfred, is it possible to insert a plastic liner inside the helmet? A clear one to see through, tough enough so if the helmet loses pressure, it won't get cut and will keep someone alive long enough to get inside?"

"It is indeed. Please recycle your original helmets, I shall retrofit them."

"Alfred, please file a patent for this under Misty's name," Mattie asked, holding out her hand, "Welcome to the moon, Misty. You've just saved lives."

"And made a few pence," Anne added.

------------------------

On the evacuated cargo deck, Vasily's damaged helmet was set up. Misty shyly handed over a survey hammer, "Mr. Danilov, please give your old helmet a good whack." He looked at her; then tapped it. A glass chunk flew out, but a small bubble of plastic protruded. He roared with laughter, taking her in a massive bear hug. "You have saved my life, my daughter. What made you think of such a thing?"

"Um, I forgot to change the trash bag before I left home..." she admitted. Vasily laughed, "Come, my little one. You are not the only smart one here! Come; let me show what your papa has created!"

------------------------


	4. 1 – 7 July, 2001

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
4: 1 – 7 July, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 1, 2001:  
Luna, South Pole-Aitken basin: 06:00 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

The sweet music crept into everyone's ears, and Vasily smiled. "Ah, thank you, Comrade Alfred. Were you a pretty girl, I would kiss you for the fine gift."

"Perhaps you could substitute your adopted daughter, Mr. Danilov," and Vasily chortled, "A beautiful, intelligent daughter and Nikolai Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov's music to wake up to. What more could a man want?"

"Breakfast?" Bill asked.

"There is that, Comrade Morton," Vasily said, "Good kasha and tea to get the blood moving."

"Were I the jealous type, Mr. Danilov, I would be," Hank said, reaching down to help him up. "Instead, you are invited to the wedding, sir."

"Then I can die a happy man, Comrade Morton, as long as you treat her like the princess she is." He wrapped a huge arm around Hank, "We shall be speaking later, you and I, about how to treat a woman. Twenty-six years of advice from a happy marriage, I give you." He thumped him, "For now, kasha and then we work!"

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 1, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 20:50 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The phone rang, "Arthur Morton speaking," he answered. After a delay, he heard, "Arthur, it's your dad. I'm standing on the south pole of the moon, and relaying through about six satellites," the scratchy voice said. "By my count, that was about four seconds delay, everyone's safe and sound, we've got core samples for the university. Some of them have to be kept as cold as possible. Please call Jim Stratton from the union, see if I can borrow his refrigerated truck to get them to the university."

"Okay, dad, we'll set that up. Here's mom." He passed it over, "They're safe, and there's about four seconds lag." He went to fetch his dad's daytimer and his cell phone. "Hello, Mr. Stratton? This is Arthur Morton, calling for my dad. He needs a favor..."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 1, 2390:  
Luna, Grimaldi Park, football pitch: 11:33  
_**------------------------

"So, where have you been?" Daphne Bundy asked, keeping the ball away from the guys, and passing it to Cassidy.

"I did a _lot_ of traveling," she replied, dribbling it, and passing it over to Susan Bones, whose shot was intercepted. She ran back up field, her mind not really on the game. "I think I'll sit for my guild qualifications," she decided. "Maybe get the _Yates_ back in commission."

"That old pile of scrap?" Susan asked as they ran downfield. "It's like... ancient!"

"Are you calling me old?" Cassidy demanded with a grin. She kicked, and it sailed past her brother's outstretched arms just under the crossbar. "GOAL!"

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 2, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio State University Geology department: 07:14 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Carefully, you idiot!" Professor Harstein demanded. The graduate students rolled their eyes as they carefully placed the five meter section next to the others on the conference room floor. Swaddled in plastic wrap, the sections were carefully numbered, so the whole kilometers-long length could be (theoretically) reassembled. The tenured professor cackled, sounding remarkably like a mad scientist (had he been a physicist). Two other students brought a section in, the professor checking the label at the end. "Yes, yes," he cackled, "This will make me famous!"

"What about the cold ones?" a student asked.

"Leave them in the freezer," the professor snapped. "What about getting them back down to four degrees Kelvin?"

"We haven't heard back from maintenance yet," one student said. "They won't open for another hour and a half. Isn't -30 Celsius good enough?"

"Bah! I am surrounded by idiots! What did I do to deserve this!" Harstein demanded of the ceiling. It didn't answer.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, July 3, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 09:05  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, good morning, ladies!" Professor Flitwick said. "I hope you've had a good weekend," he added. "Miss Bundy, are you well?"

"I have felt better," she admitted. "However, Miss Pomfrey says I might attend if I wish, and I am heartily tired of lying abed."

The tiny professor stroked his beard, "As you wish. Now, before we dive back into getting the both of you up to speed, I would like to say that we finally found the book you mentioned, Miss Wayne."

"I didn't hide it well enough, then," she said with a grin.

"No, Madame Pince found it on top of one of the Herbology stacks, covered in several inches of dust. It does appear to be a most interesting book, most interesting indeed. I would like to discuss it with you in private, after class. Now, did you have any questions?"

'_That's not where I left it_,' Mattie thought.

Anne sighed, "'Twere a way to send my kin a letter, I woulds't employ it. I do miss them so."

"Hmm," the tiny professor seemed to wrestle with himself, actually sitting on a pile of tomes. "What would you say?"

"Only that I am well, and that I love and miss them."

"Miss Wayne?"

"I would like to know if Cassidy is safe, but that's going the other direction. I liked the people then, and would probably just add a 'Hello' to Anne's. I've been meaning to ask the Headmistress if I can put a letter in her Journal, I guess she'd get it eventually."

"Hmm," Professor Flitwick stroked his whiskers, coming to a decision. "Let us move on, we must cover assorted hexes for your examination. Let's start with a simple stinging hex, shall we?"

------------------------

"Miss Wayne?" Mattie put her bag down, and resumed her seat. Anne paused a minute, and then closed the door after her.

"Miss Wayne, what happens when you hold a poker in a fire?"

"It gets hot."

"And if it is kept there?"

"It will burn whoever's holding it."

"Correct. But if the fire was hot enough and the poker stayed there long enough, it could melt."

"Theoretically," Mattie acknowledged. "But most people are smart enough to pull it out or let go before that."

"In this case, my dear, you were the poker, not the person holding it and you had been jammed fast into the middle of an inferno. The Guardian may well have saved your life by knocking you unconscious when he did." Filius Flitwick sighed, and took a seat on his desk, his legs swinging two feet above the floor. "Miss Wayne, whilst I can appreciate your desire to defend your friends," '_I am heartily glad she considers me one_!' he thought, and continued, "Such a move as using an untested spell, especially on yourself, was foolish."

"I would not consider it untested, sir," she replied.

"Did you read any of the book besides the spells?" he asked. '_Merlin knows how many others from that book she learned_,' he mused.

"My translation spell was having trouble with the hieroglyphs," she admitted. "I scanned the index, and several of the spells I copied to double-check the translations later, but my time was somewhat... limited," she admitted with a grin.

"Understandable," he nodded. "That book was from the Third Dynasty, it should never have been filed in the restricted section. Professor Croft has been going over it; I believe she wants it filed in the Headmistress' private library with the other dangerous..." He stopped short, remembering too late Severus' discussion of her family. He gazed at her, her green eyes intent.

"How is a book determined to be restricted or included in the private library?" she asked casually.

Professor Flitwick sighed, "I will tell you, but you must hold this in confidence," he admitted. She nodded, and he continued, "A book is restricted if the information could be hazardous to the average student," he admitted. "The private library is for those spells that are considered dangerous, or restricted for licensing reasons. Construction spells, for instance."

"I see..." she mused.

"Miss Wayne, I will strike a bargain with you," he offered. '_Merlin, I wish she were in my house_!' he thought. "I will not question how or where you found a particular spell, if you will agree to practice it only with a faculty member, for safety reasons."

"Have they have agreed to this?" she asked.

"Not yet," he admitted. "I will propose it at the next faculty meeting. I think we would all prefer a bit of safe experimenting, as opposed to the castle being destroyed." He smiled, "In any case, you may do so with me, irrespective of their agreement."

Mattie offered her hand, "Agreed, pity this won't apply to my OWLs."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, July 4, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Staff room: 08:05  
_**------------------------

"Was there anything else?" Minerva asked.

"I had one other thing I wished to discuss," Filius said. He took a sip of tea, and continued, "I had a discussion with Miss Wayne yesterday. She agreed to practice dangerous spells with a faculty member; in return we will not inquire as to how or where she acquired the information. I think this is preferable to having Hogwarts pulled down around our ears."

"She has other spells from that book?" Lara Croft asked, and Filius nodded. Lara paled, adding, "I agree."

"As do I," Pomona said. "I would add Mr. Morton and the other members of her cabal to the agreement, though."

"I would not," Severus said. "Having one student with that level of power is quite enough. Miss Wayne survived, aided no doubt by her Ring. I doubt the other members of her group are able to handle that amount of power." He steepled his hands, adding, "Whilst I deplore the dunderheads I am forced to teach, I still enjoy having a roof over my head."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, July 4, 2001:  
New York City, Central Park, Sheep Meadow: 18:39 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Connie put two fingers in her mouth, letting out a sharp whistle, "Hey, Cortez, over here!"

One of the twins waved in acknowledgement, as they picked their way through the mass of New Yorkers lying out, eating, tossing Frisbees, and playing with dogs. They all faced roughly north, toward the Reservoir, where the fireworks would be launched from behind the police station.

"Good crowd," one said as they arrived, their parents unrolling a blanket to sit on.

"I'd like to get your side of the story about your rather unusual arrival a few weeks ago," Beth Koslowski said. "Connie's told me some things. Having a starship drop you off in the middle of Central Park is making an entrance."

"Only because the roof of our apartment building wasn't large enough, or flat enough, for Alfred to land on," one twin said. "So, we landed on the Great Lawn."

"I'm working on a story about President Luthor," Beth said. "Some things just aren't adding up about what he says, and when you add in what little Connie could tell me, it gets my reporter's nose twitching."

"I've heard the _Daily Planet_ is taking a close look at him," the other twin added.

"A sitting President, especially a third-party President, is always fair game for the press," Beth confirmed. "I can't let a Metropolis paper scoop the _New York Times_, now, can I?"

------------------------  
**_Thursday, July 5, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio State University Geology department: 16:24 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"You asked me to come by, Professor?" Maggie Morton asked.

"I told you to come by this morning!" snapped Harstein. "Where have you been, woman? I have the preliminary results here for both samples." He dropped a stack of paper and a pair of CDs in front of her, not noticing her irritation at his attitude.

"Thank you, professor," she said, "I am sorry that I could not come earlier, but my work..."

"A librarian? BAH! Any fool could do that, even my undergraduates! Now this, this is REAL work!" He turned his back on her, and never noticed when she left.

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 6, 2001:  
Havana, José Martí International Airport: 13:45 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The white ship banked, settling silently to the airport tarmac. The forward hatch lowered, a figure emerging to greet another emerging from his limousine. Security spread out in a ring as handshakes were exchanged.

"Mr. President," the smaller figure said in Spanish.

"Miss Wayne," the much larger figure greeted. "I am surprised to hear you speak Spanish. I did not know you did. However, I am pleased to present a gift to you, some of the finest engineering Cuba has yet performed!" He turned, asking his chauffeur, "Raul?"

As he opened the limo's trunk, Mattie replied, "A small implant that Alfred did for me, outpatient surgery that fits into my jaw. It is the size of a few grains of rice. We'll give you some for your people to examine. I understand you must be careful."

He sighed. "Unfortunately true, Raul would have my head if I did so."

"And rightly so," the bodyguard said. "It would be a useful thing to have, though. I would appreciate all the data you can offer." He connected a cable to a controller, then to a thin plate the size of a large book, which he laid on the tarmac. Handing the controller to the President, "Whenever you are ready, El Presidente."

He flipped the power switch, sliding a control. The plate rose to a hover at about waist height, when Raul took a seat on it. It dipped a bit, and then maneuvered as he manipulated a small joystick. He smiled, asking, "Raul, your weight?"

"Ninety-five kilos, Comrade," Raul replied from about head-height. Mattie closed her eyes, whispering a quick prayer.

"You are religious?" the strongman asked, as he lowered his bodyguard back to the ground.

"I don't go to Mass like I should, but the gravity problem was my greatest worry," she replied. "Once that is solved, others look a bit more... manageable."

Fidel grunted, stroking his beard in thought. Handing the controller to Raul, he motioned to his limousine, "Please, have a seat, Miss Wayne, we need to talk. Raul, please load the other presents into the starship."

------------------------

The President took off his fatigue jacket, tossing it over a seat. "Please be comfortable, Miss Wayne. For the moment, I am not El Presidente, I am your Uncle Fidel, and I think this is a conversation that Senor Wayne would have had with you, had he lived." He regarded her gravely, "I approve that he used his wealth to help others less fortunate, and that you are following in his footsteps." He raised his hand, "I am aware of your schooling, I have a grand-nephew starting his fifth year at Azteca, as you will be starting your fourth at Hogwarts." He smiled briefly, "There are advantages to having an intelligence service." She flashed a matching grin, as he regarded her from under his heavy eyebrows.

"You are driven, and with good cause," he finally continued. He leaned forward, adding, "However, you have two faults that I see. Firstly, you must learn to step back, and let others do their work. Secondly, you are too American, you must learn from Latinos, the work must be done, but in a project spanning decades, manana will work." He grinned, "You have spent too much time with the Swiss and Germans, always precise, always _in ordnung_. In engineering, this is good, but people are not machines."

She exhaled with a whoosh, sitting back against the leather. He raised his eyebrow, and she grinned and sat back up. He said, "One other thing, Miss Martha. You _are_ allowed to be a 13-year old girl, to sit and talk about silly things, paint your toenails, and discuss your boyfriend Mr. Morton. You can go shopping with your friends, including your friend Sprink. I am aware that growing up as you have, and where you have, has made you think you must carry the world on your shoulders alone." He smiled gently, "Others can carry the burden for a while, including Mr. Morton. I would very much like to meet him, and his family."

"I think that can be arranged," she replied with a smile. "Thank you. There's just so much to do..." He regarded her, and she finished, "...manana."

"Good. You are learning," he replied. "Have you any questions for your uncle?"

"You are nothing like the history books," she ventured.

"Most certainly," he agreed. "In here, I may relax a bit, as with family. However, I must be strict with people, to protect my people." He sighed, "You may speak with the Israelis and South Africans, they were international pariahs as well. However, my duty to my people requires me to be strong, to do what is necessary."

"What about the embargo, and the 1960's?" she asked.

"Ah, the blockade, and that foolishness with the Kennedys," he sighed. "At the time, we nationalized American properties, offering them a fair price, what they claimed on their taxes. This, of course, did not satisfy them, and they and their Mafiosi went to the Kennedys." He looked at her, "This is known as '_realpolitik_' and with powerful enemies; one must have powerful allies. The Soviets were demanding and arrogant, but the price for their support was the missiles." He shifted on the limousine's seat, "It is one reason politicians have such a poor reputation, always seeking an advantage, as do businessmen. You, however, have proved honorable and fair in your dealings, and so Cuba counts herself as an ally, as does Germany and the rest." He reached for his fatigue jacket, asking, "Tell me, who does Mr. Morton favor, Cleveland or Cincinnati?"

"I think he supports the Reds, while I've always been a Gotham Knights fan," she replied.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place: 08:13 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The white ship banked gently, touching down again at the apex of the traffic circle. The forward hatch lowered, two figures emerging, followed by a small disk. The impromptu basketball game broke up as several figures headed toward the three. Arthur did the honors, "Mattie, Ms. Hawking, I'd like to introduce Pete and Steve, they, um, they know about the crater."

"No worries," Mattie said, indicating the remote. "Guys, this is Alfred's remote. We're here for a good old-fashioned Fourth. Where do we bring stuff for the potluck?"

"My place," Steve said. "Hot or cold?"

"Cold, we brought a sheet cake," Sheila replied. "I hope it's big enough."

------------------------

Steve concentrated as he slowly walked up the driveway, balancing the sheet cake on the antigrav plate. Mattie walked slowly backward, ready to catch it as the parents' conversation slowed to a halt. He maneuvered it to the table, slowly lowering it as his mother asked, "What is that?"

"Antigravity," he said, as he slid the plate from under the large cake. Under the plate's plastic overlay was a Cuban flag, he switched the controller off, laying it next to the plate. He looked at the assorted parents, "It's really true, it's _possible_!"

"We can do it," Sheila said with a grin, offering her hand, "Sheila Hawking, aunt to this crazy dreamer and counsel-at-law to Arrowhead Investments, Ltd. I'll answer what questions I can."

------------------------

"I'm sure you guys have questions," Mattie said, stealing the basketball and dribbling it, keeping it away from Steve.

"When can we go?" Steve asked.

"It's still really early," Hank said. "We were staking the claim and capping the venting ammonia, and we set up some equipment." He took a pass from Mattie, shooting at a backboard and hoop bolted to a light pole.

"By the time we go back, we should have some distilled Helium-3," Mattie said, taking a pass from Arthur. "The Canadians have been working with deuterium, but Helium-3 is unbelievably expensive, it's a byproduct of uranium refinement." She shot, it bounced off the rim, and she added, "We set up a small refinery, and we need to get copies of the core samples."

"We were talking about what each of us could..." Pete said when a police cruiser pulled in.

The cop got out, surveying the situation, as a cackling old man walked down his driveway, waving his cane. "Old man Murchinson," Pete said, sotto voice. "Neighborhood grump."

"See what I said?" Murchinson called. "It's blocking my driveway! Damn kids! I want it moved!"

The cop sighed, taking his cap off and mopping his brow. "From what I see, sir, it's not blocking your driveway in any way, although I'd like to know what's going on."

"Fourth of July party, officer," Mattie said, bouncing the ball. "The _Yates_ is a British registered starship, and I'm an American citizen."

"Why haven't I heard about this before?" the cop asked, as Misty came down the driveway with a tray of lemonade balanced on the antigravity plate.

"Luthor and the White House are suppressing information on it," she replied, handing him a glass of lemonade with the others. He nodded thanks, taking a glance under the tray, muttering, "Antigravity?" Misty nodded.

"This is way over my pay grade," he admitted. "I don't see any laws broken, though, and I don't know where else you might park the ship. Thanks for the lemonade, Miss," he added, getting in his cruiser and driving off.

"You get this all the time?" Misty asked, adding, "Food's about ready."

"It's starting to get irritating," Mattie admitted, extracting a ice cube from her glass and crunching it as they walked back.

------------------------

"So what's this about antigravity?" Steve asked. "I saw it had a Cuban flag."

"I got that from 'El Presidente' yesterday, and..."

"Waitaminute," Pete said, waving his hands. "You've MET Castro?"

"Yep. As I was saying, I saw him lift his bodyguard Raul with that very same unit, and he weighed about two hundred pounds or so. Big fellow," she added. "Anyway, I was worried about..."

"Waitaminute," Steve interrupted, "That little plate, the size of a magazine, can lift a guy weighing two hundred pounds?"

Mattie put her burger down. "I'll prove it right here and now. I don't weigh that much, but you can lift me with it."

"Guys, it's probably not much different from what Hawkman uses," Arthur said. "If Mattie says it'll work, you can put money on it because she already has."

Mattie picked up her burger, "Answer the question?"

------------------------

"So how is Arrowhead going to take its 30 share?" Pete asked, hot dog in hand.

"We were thinking on the actual train terminals, cargo and utility rooms, the associated easements, that kind of thing," Sheila replied, fork full of three-bean salad midair. She took a bite, chewing contemplatively. "Interesting, there's a bit of a bite to the flavor."

"I added a dash of lemon," Jill said.

"I'll have to try that," Sheila said with a smile.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
White House, Oval Office: 12:18 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Mr. President, there's something on GNN you really ought to see," the political advisor said, turning up the volume on a TV. He set the remote down, and heard Mattie say, "... No, Sylvia, Arrowhead isn't bypassing American companies and universities without good cause. I'm in agreement with the British government and the others, including our friends in Cuba, Russia and Germany. Our having a starship, and the detailed technical information, is simply a matter of lifting all our boats equally. You saw the demonstration of Cuban antigravity earlier, where a plate the size of a magazine lifted two people. Unfortunately, all our indications to date are that President Luthor's administration isn't inclined to share." She smiled winningly, "I do hope I'm wrong, in which case I'll apologize to him."

"What about trade with Cuba? Isn't that illegal?"

"Not for a British firm, Sylvia. While as an American citizen, under the Helms-Burton Act, I cannot legally purchase anything in Cuba, nothing prevents me from traveling there, as long as I don't spend any money." Mattie smiled, "The antigravity plate you saw earlier was a gift from Cuba to the people of the world."

President Luthor looked at his political advisor, "Get out."

"But sir, we need to ..."

"Out," He glanced at the Secret Service agent, who held the door open. It shut after him, and Luthor spoke again. "Arrest her, quietly. I want her to vanish, permanently."

The Secret Service agent swallowed, "Yes, sir."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Place: 14:04 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The agents parked next to the white starship, one of them looking up at it, saying softly, "Oh, man, it's _real_."

"This sucks, man," another said.

"Orders are orders," the first said. He sighed, adjusted his suit jacket, and said, "Especially from the President. Let's go arrest a little girl."

------------------------

They found their subject sitting at a picnic table next to a boy about her own age and some sort of robot. The adults sitting across from her noticed their approach, as they asked, "Miss Helena Martha Wayne?"

Mattie looked up from her ear of corn, and said, "Yes?"

"United States Secret Service," one agent said, showing a badge. "Please come with us."

She finished the last few bites as Sheila Hawking rose, "Good afternoon. I'm Miss Wayne's aunt and her attorney. May I see the arrest warrant?"

The agent shifted subtly, "We have orders to pick her up, by Presidential order. She will then be taken to a place of confinement until the President decides otherwise."

"What is the 'place of confinement'?" Pete asked, rising. "By the way, I'm a criminal attorney," he added, passing over his business card.

The agent shifted again, "Currently, a secure federal facility," he admitted. "Miss Wayne, will you come with us quietly?"

"Doesn't look like I have a choice, do I?"

"No, miss, you don't."

Mattie stood, holding up her left hand, "Arthur, Alfred, stand down. Arthur, could you call my aunt and uncle and let them know about this, and maybe Connie's mom too in New York. After all," she grinned a bit, "It's not like I'm going to Alcatraz."

"No, miss, you're definitely not going there," one agent replied.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
Gotham City, Wayne Manor: 14:08 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Thank you, Arthur," Selina said. She hung up, addressing Dick and Babs, "Luthor just arrested Mattie without a charge or warrant. Sheila's sticking to her like glue. He was going to call Lois and Clark next." She seethed, "If he harms one hair on her head, he is so dead..."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
New York City, _**The New York Times**_: 14_****_:10 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Koslowski," the reporter answered, then, "Oh, hello, Mr. Morton. Yes, I know of her, although I've never met her. What? Without a warrant? And she's HOW old? Oh, yeah, thanks for the tip!" She hung up, looking at the clock, tapping a pen against her teeth. Flipping through her Rolodex, she picked up the phone, "Special Agent Franklin, please. Yes, I'll wait." She progressed to nibbling on the end of the cheap pen, "Hey, Tom! Beth Koslowski. I'm cashing in a favor, what do you know about Miss Helena Martha Wayne?" She held her phone away from her ear for a second, replying, "You know I won't tell you that. I'll trade, though I'm on deadline. Okay, deal. See you, half an hour." She finished typing her story, clicking on 'Send'; then went down the hall to her editor's office, knocking on the doorframe. "Hey, chief, got a hot tip..."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
London, _**The Reporter**_: 19_****_:12  
_**------------------------

"That slimy bastard," Lois said as she disconnected.

"Who?" Clark asked.

"Luthor just arrested Mattie," she replied, "Arthur Morton just called; the Secret Service picked her up without a warrant." Looking up at her husband, she asked, "Can you call Minerva? Something tells me she won't be in class on Monday."

"Unless she wants to be," he replied.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 7, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Headmistress' office: 19:14  
_**------------------------

Minerva's mobile rang, she murmured a quick "Excuse me," then "What! Certainly, thank you Mr. Kent." Pocketing the phone, she said, "Miss Wayne was just arrested on the order of their President Luthor."

Pomona sat up, asking, "On what charge?"

"None, apparently."

"Miss Wayne will be an inmate only as long as she wishes to be," Severus said. "However, I shall not repeat this material for her, she would be wise to be in school on Monday."


	5. 8 – 14 July, 2001

For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
5: 8 – 14 July, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 8, 2001:  
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison: 05:09 (GMT -5) _**  
------------------------

"Wake up, Miss Wayne, you're home."

"Eh?"

"Camp Cupcake, also known as Alderson Prison Camp, your new home until the President decides to release you."

"Or a judge," Sheila added.

"May I have a few moments with my attorney?" Mattie asked, the agents moving off a few yards. She started to hand her aunt things from nowhere as they talked, her aunt laughing at one point. With a hug, they separated, Wayne being escorted into the building as her aunt drove off with an agent.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 8, 2001:  
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (intake): 05:19 (GMT -5) _**  
------------------------

The Secret Service agent showed ID, saying, "I'm dropping off Miss Wayne here."

"What's the charge?"

The agent shifted uncomfortably as he handed over paperwork, "No charge, just a Presidential pickup order."

"Burying his problems in the federal prison system?" the guard snorted, "Things haven't changed since Nixon." He looked over his glasses at Mattie, "My god, how old are you, girl?"

She tried to look pitiful, "T...thirteen, sir."

"What the he... heck did you do to piss off the President? Send him a nasty email?"

"I wouldn't sign over my starship to him," she said, her lower lip quivering.

"Starship?" the guard flipped open the folder, "Christ on a crutch," he said, glaring at the agent, "Not only do you give me a teenage prisoner with name recognition, daughter of a billionaire, a millionaire in her own right, but worst of all, she's from _Gotham City_!" He glared, "This is not the federal loony bin!"

"Hey!"

"C'mere, you," he said, "I'll put you in with Benni. She's already made her bones."

------------------------

"Castellano, you got a roomie," the guard said, knocking on the cell's doorframe. "You two Gotham loonies can hit it off, or each other."

"Gotham?" Benni the fishwife asked, looking up from her letter. She paled, "Oh, _crap_! WAYNE?"

"That's my name," Mattie said. "I've got the top bunk?"

"Yeah, how in the hell did you get in Camp Cupcake? Was it something with your mom or the loonies in the Iceberg?"

"Hey, some of those loonies are very nice," she replied, climbing up to make the bed. "Luthor wants to steal my starship. I said no, and here I am."

"Let me help," Benni said, adding, "I saw your starship on the news. For some reason, it just didn't surprise me a Wayne would have one." She pulled on a sheet, "You need it done by the 7:30 inspection, you've got about forty five minutes left for breakfast. I hope you don't snore."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 8, 2001:  
London, Weasley's Wheezes (back room): 11:07 _**  
------------------------

The compulator 'pinged', and Ginny clicked on the 'mail' icon. She read the message, frowned in thought, printing it off for her brothers. Checking on her babies, she left them in Dobby's care, going out front. "Oy, I've got an email from Ms. Hawking for Wayne. She's passing on a commission."

Gred looked over from stocking the shelves, calling, "Read it, Gin-Gin."

_July 8, 2001_

_Dear Weasleys, _

_Against my better judgment, I am passing on this request for my client, Mattie Wayne. As you may know, she was arrested by President Luthor to force her to sign over her starship. Since that will never happen, she wants Mr. Luthor pranked, and she turns to you, the best in the business. _

Gred smiled, patting himself on the back, and said, "Of course!"

"Shut it, you!" his sister said with a smile, resuming:

_The White House is the best guarded building in the world. This is the muggle equivalent of pranking the Queen in Buckingham Palace. In addition, the pranks must be temporary (24 hours or so), cause no lasting damage, and harm no one – the idea being to humiliate President Luthor. _

_It is preferable to abandon a prank than to get caught! The Secret Service is heavily armed, very paranoid, has no sense of humor, and maintains constant surveillance in all areas of the building and grounds. You are risking serious prison time or death if caught!_

_I would personally recommend passing on this challenge. _

_Sheila Hawking _

------------------------

Ginny put down the email, "What do you think? Death is a serious turn off, and muggle prisons are not nice," she shuddered.

"Ah, but what a challenge!" Ian said. "Wayne is not only a housemate, she's an investor, and she's licensed quite a bit of kit to us," he added. "Besides, it allows us to ride to a maiden's succor, very like Sir Galahad."

Ginny looked around, "Then we start planning on Project Galahad."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 8, 2001:  
_**The New York Times, (...continued from page A-2)**_  
_**------------------------

By Elizabeth Koslowski

_... President Luthor was elected on the old promise of 'a chicken in every pot', or in his case, 'An aircar in every garage.' This is simply an update of a hoary old political promise akin to 'Forty acres and a mule' and 'I have a plan to balance the budget.' Who knew that fulfilling his pledge would, in one particular case, amount to charges of grand theft on a planetary scale? _

_President Luthor was wise enough to carry through the successful economic programs of his predecessor, enabling both a balanced budget and a start to paying down the national debt (despite Congress' addiction to pork). Aside from that, what have been the noteworthy events so far in his administration? He's repainted the White House with lead-based paint (ignoring the EPA's protests), committed to full funding for the JLA, and followed through on his promise to run the government like a business. It is unfortunate that his flat tax and zero-based budgeting proposals failed in Congress. _

_If you have relatives overseas (as many New Yorkers do), you may have heard them talk about press releases from a British company called Arrowhead Investments, and wondered why the news isn't appearing in the American press. Taking a look at their web site, you run across an extensive file of press releases, not for 'pie-in-the-sky' technology, but for actual, working hardware. A notable collaboration is between Cuban and Swiss scientists, who have developed a functional antigravity device that we saw demonstrated on GNN. The size and thickness of a magazine, it was able to lift Arrowhead's founder and CEO, Ms. Mattie Wayne to head height. _

_The licensing terms Ms. Wayne insists on are generous. While an inventor can retain their patent, if they have accepted funding from Arrowhead, they must be open to expansion, meaning that the 'aircar' is a distinct possibility. _

_However, President Luthor seems to hold a different view. Ms. Wayne alleges that he wants her starship and its associated technology for himself. As she explained in an interview, reverse engineering the alien technology serves two purposes: it prevents the severe financial drain licensing would cause, and it increases our own knowledge base. By spreading out the research, it 'lifts all boats equally', to use her phrase. With this in mind, her refusal to permit American and French interests to access this technology is curious, unless there is a secret agenda on the part of the President. If Ms. Wayne has evidence to support her charges, we ask her to let us all examine it. _

_For now, both old allies such as England and Germany, and old opponents, such as Russia and Cuba seem to be united in sharing this technological windfall. As the United States (and France) are on the outside, noses pressed against the glass, excluded from this bounty, we must ask why. _

_We must also ask why Ms. Wayne was quietly arrested by the Secret Service without charge, and whisked off to Alderson Prison in West Virginia. If Ms. Wayne has broken a law, certainly she deserves to know what that crime is, and to have a trial. If President Luthor is suspending the writ of habeas corpus, he has certainly chosen an interesting opponent. Ms. Wayne is the only daughter of late billionaire and Gotham philanthropist Bruce Wayne, and seems to be following in her father's footsteps. She is also just 13. _

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 8, 2001:  
London, Diagon Alley, Weasley's Wheezes: 10:49 _**  
------------------------

The doorbell emitted its usual 'braap' of sound, and a teenage wizard smiled at the nearest redhead. "G'day, I'm looking for Mr. Gred Forge."

"That's m'name, mate!" Fred (or George) said. "What can we do for you?"

"I was reading Ms. Lane's editorial in th' Reporter this morning..."

"Lovely, lovely woman," he said. "Aunt to one of our mates," his twin added. "Pity she's in Slytherin."

"I do believe we're talking about the same mate," the fellow said, "And as my Gran feels the same as I do, I came by to see if we might offer our aid. Strictly unofficially, though."

"And your Gran is?" The wizard's eyes shifted to a portrait on the wall, adding, "Hufflepuff."

"Ah, yes," Gred said. "Why don't you join us in the back room?"

------------------------

When the door opened, an argument was heard, shutting off with the door closing. Minerva tutted, "Please, come in Mr. Spencer. I presume you're here regarding Operation Galahad?"

Molly bustled over with a fresh cuppa, "Don't worry, dear, I brewed it myself. It's safe; I never went in for food pranks."

"Thank Merlin," Remus Lupin said, with Harry Potter's agreement. Albus Dumbledore smiled, asking "Lemon Drop?"

"I'm here with Gran's blessing to offer our unofficial support," Harry Spencer said, putting down his bag. He took a sip, "Unfortunately, I must return shortly, before these documents are needed." He took another sip, "Might I borrow your loo?"

"Second door on the right, mate," Ian said. "The plumbing knocks a bit when you turn the tap."

"Ever so kind of you."

------------------------

After Mr. Spencer had left, Harry took the stack of paper from the floor. "Well, this is useful," he said, "Private, and very unofficial email addresses. Layout of Alderson prison, although not of the White House." He frowned, "We need reconnaissance."

"Simple enough, Angelina and I will pose as muggle tourists," Fred said.

She swatted him, "You couldn't pose as a muggle if your life depended on it! If I'm going, it's going to be as Mrs. Fred Weasley, it's more respectable."

"Oh, my dear!" Molly said, enveloping her in a teary hug.

Alicia Spinnet turned to George, "What about you? Are you letting your brother go one up on you?"

Fred smirked at him, and George swallowed, going down on one knee. "Alicia, will you..."

"Thick as a plank, aren't you? Of course I will." She was tackled by Molly.

Albus smiled at the young couples, then reminisced, "I do remember assisting the Americans in reinforcing the wards about the White House. While they are not as old as Hogwarts', they are of considerable power." He sipped his tea, "The Jerries had the Spear of Destiny, and that Himmler fellow was always a devious chap. They came very close to capturing the Grail when they took Paris, we would have had a much more difficult time had they done so." He leaned forward, "I am reconsidering the wisdom of this prank. While I enjoy a good laugh as much as the next, we must consider this: If the situation were reversed, what would be our reaction to a prank on the Queen? Laughter, or outrage?"

"Who would dare..."

"Exactly," Albus said. "Why should we expect the Yanks to react any differently? Did we prank Minister Fudge while he was in office? No. We respected the office, if not the man." He surveyed the group of pranksters, "I must add my endorsement to Ms. Hawking's, I strongly recommend _against_ pranking the President."

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 9, 2390:  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Yates library: 23:43  
_**------------------------

Cassidy pulled the old book gently from the shelf, casting the decryption spell and the pass phrase ('Luthor is a toad, Arthur rules.'), before turning to the bookmarked page. Yawning, she sipped tea, settling down to read her great-grandmother Mattie's private journal.

_Sunday, 8 July, 2001  
Alderson Prison, West Virginia_

_I look at that simple sentence, and I wonder 'why'. I haven't done anything wrong, why am I in prison? Granted, this place isn't Marion or Leavenworth (thank God!), and I could simply walk away, but that would create even more legal problems. _

_Aunt Sheila came by; she said that the New York Times had a nice article from Connie's mom. Well written, balanced, and devastating to Luthor. It mentioned my age, which blows my using age potion in the future. She's got a motel room in town, and is looking for a cyber-café where she can connect her laptop to a printer and the Internet. She advised me to keep my cool, follow the rules, and don't get into fights. I don't have to worry about that, Benni and my reputation as the 'Gotham girls' keeps most from starting a fight. I'm also spending a lot of time on the weight pile, which Pomfrey will yell at me about, I'm sure. _

_I'm worried about my classes, though. This will play hell with summer school, I'm sure. I'm sure Aunt Sheila or somebody got word to Hogwarts about my arrest. I wonder how far behind I'll be. Will I have to repeat the third year? Maybe Uncle Clark will say something on his news show; hopefully I can catch it live. _

_Off to breakfast, and then work. Everyone has a job here; mine is taking care of the munchkins in child care. I do the usual changing nappies, bottles, and story time for the older ones, with 'Tales of Gotham' by Aunt Mattie. At least I've got a lot of material!_

Cassidy closed the book, yawned, and canceled the decryption spell before shelving the book with the others and heading up to bed.

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 9, 2001:  
Beckley, West Virginia, Division 5, 4th US Circuit Court clerk: 08:39 (GMT-5) _**  
------------------------

"Whose docket is this on?" Sheila asked the court clerk.

"Judge Greenbriar's, same as the county," yawned the clerk. "You're scheduled for Friday at ten, if another case doesn't delay it. Don't be late."

"I did ask for an emergency hearing, my client..."

"Whatever," the clerk said. "You got emergency, but there's only three judges covering five divisions. Judge Summers is in Wheeling getting surgery for her cancer. Unless your client's strapped into the chair, he'll just have to wait." She slurped coffee from a 7-11 mug. "Next!"

------------------------  
**_Thursday, July 12, 2001:  
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (mess): 07:07 (GMT -5) _**  
------------------------

Benni the fishwife put down her coffee, "This sure ain't Raul's coffee."

Another inmate leaned over as Mattie nodded, "Whose coffee's that?"

"Best coffee in Gotham," Mattie said. "When I'd get out of school, I'd go downtown and walk the three blocks to get me and my dad a fresh cup. He'd give me a business problem to solve after I did my homework, then go over them all with me." She sighed, "God, I miss him."

"Wayne was a good man," Benni said. "Heck of a turnout at his funeral." Her fork pushed the eggs around the plate, "Y'know, Marone issued a 'hands off' of Raul's cart, his coffee was that good. I don't think he ever knew he had Mob protection."

"Two-Face went after a thug that was trying to shake him down," Mattie said, adding, "Scarred side up."

"There actually is a Two-Face?" an inmate asked, "It's not an invention of the media?"

Mattie and Benni looked at each other and laughed, as another asked, "What do you mean, 'scarred side up'?"

Benni looked at her, and drew her thumb across her throat. The inmate paled, swallowed nervously, and quietly returned to her meal.

------------------------

"That your ship?" Benni asked, a photo on the front of USA Today showing a white ship. The article read, 'Questions about starships'.

Mattie nodded while she did sit-ups, "Damn, I wish I had my cell phone."

"I wish I was a size six, dearie. Ain't gonna happen."

"Can if you work at it."

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 13, 2001:  
Beckley, West Virginia, Division 5, 4th US Circuit Court: 11:51 (GMT-5) _**  
------------------------

Sheila sighed to herself, Judge Greenbriar was _still_ going on, explaining the decision he'd rendered an hour ago. She reopened her case file, when the gavel finally banged, the judge announcing, "Lunch time. Be back here at three, when we'll hear Wayne v. Luthor." The gavel banged again, as Sheila thought, '_A three hour lunch_?'

------------------------

"Attorney for the plantiff?"

"Thank you, your honor," Sheila said, rising. "My client, Ms. Helena Martha Wayne, demands that Mr. Luthor show just cause for her unlawful detention, and immediate relief from said detention. My client is a thirteen year old girl, your honor, and is being held without charge in Alderson, an adult prison. In addition, she was not advised of her Miranda rights, and was denied due process and the right of _habeus corpus_ by the actions of the defendant."

The government's attorney rose briefly, "The plantiff is a material witness in a top secret government activity, which we are not at liberty to disclose."

"And what, Mr. Paulson, pray tell, is the government so worried about that they are willing to imprison a young girl? What is a young girl doing participating in a secret government activity, so secret that you're holding her in an adult prison, instead of a secure facility like a military base? What is to prevent her from spilling whatever secrets she possesses to her fellow inmates, or visitors, or guards?" The judge leaned forward, "If the government is so concerned with maintaining her secrecy, what is to prevent her from simply walking off? There are no walls at Alderson, it's a minimum security facility."

"Your honor, we are not at liberty to say."

The judge snorted, "Oh, really? I do retain my secret clearances through the Army Reserves. Ms. Hawking, what clearances do you have?"

"Secret, your honor, Marine Corps Reserves."

"Well, then, Mr. Paulson, why don't the three of us adjourn to my chambers, where you can discuss what secret programs the government is involving a thirteen year old girl in, and why she needs to be locked up?"

------------------------

"Well, Mr. Paulson, we're waiting," the judge said as the heavy oak door closed.

"Your honor, I am really not at liberty to say," the nervous attorney said.

"I see," he replied, glancing at Sheila. "I'm going to give you the weekend to come up with something more definitive than 'a secret project'. I do read the papers, Mr. Paulson, and Ms. Wayne's allegations are beginning to hold more water with me." He turned, "Ms. Hawking, I'd like to see this ship."

"The _Yates_ is too big to fit inside the building, but he would fit in a parking lot or field, your honor. He could be here in an hour or two; I believe he's in orbit."

"Set it up for six tonight, I presume you can both meet me?" the judge asked rhetorically. "Good. South parking lot, now let's go back and reschedule for Monday."

------------------------

The white ship ghosted silently over the rows of cars, to the center of the rough square blocked off by sheriff's cars, lights flashing. The only sound was of the landing gear locking into place with soft 'thunks', as it settled. With a whine, the forward boarding ramp lowered, as well as the cargo hatch. A slim blonde walked down, wearing a black skinsuit. Sheila moved forward, "Judge Greenbriar, this is Anne Bundy, first officer, and this," she indicated Alfred's remote, "is Mr. Alfred Pennyworth, owner and resident AI of the _Cassidy Yates_."

"Would'st like a tour, milord?" Anne asked politely.

"I would'st indeed," the judge replied. "How old are you, my dear?"

"Six hundred and thirty-six, milord," Anne replied, stopping him in his tracks. She added, "'Twas born in 1365, milord, and did travel to this century." She motioned, "The tour, milord?"

------------------------

After the tour ended, Judge Greenbriar said, "Mr. Paulson, you'd better come up with one damn good reason for keeping Ms. Wayne locked up by Monday. For now, the fish are biting."

"Would you like a lift, your honor?" Sheila asked.

"Thank you, no. I use the drive to think things over."

Sheila offered a small device, "An emergency transmitter; sir. You can return it on Monday, or keep it. Things can happen in the woods."

"Thank you, Ms. Hawking, but I've got my GPS."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 14, 2001:  
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (classroom): 12:35 (GMT -5) _**  
------------------------

Mattie stopped at Paul's confused expression, "What's the matter?" she asked gently.

"I don' understand these fractions," he said, chewing on his pencil.

"Fractions are easy," she replied, crouching next to him. "Did Mom ever let you help her bake a pie?" He nodded, "They're the same thing. Now, think of a whole pie. That's one, and its written 1/1." He nodded. "When you cut the pie in half, what do you have?"

"Two pieces."

"And it's written how?"

"Um," he chewed the pencil, "2/1?"

"Almost," she smiled. "We're cutting _down_ the pie, so it's written on the underside, and it's known as the ..."

"Denominator!"

"You got it! Gimme five!" They slapped palms, and she asked, "Now, if you wanted to cut that pie so that every one in class had a piece, how many would you have?"

"Do I count the men in black?"

"I am afraid he means us," a black clad figure said as she turned. He gave a formal bow, "The guards are asleep, and communication out is being monitored. The Paper Monkey sends her regards."

"Hai," she said, returning his bow. "Your instructions regarding the children?"

"They are not to be harmed, unless they pose a threat. They may leave, together with Miss Miller, in peace." He presented her with a weapon from his back, "To ensure a fair fight."

She pulled the blade from the sheath, edge up, and the ninja nodded his approval when she said in Japanese, "Nodachi, Momoyama Shinto era. I am honored." With a snap, it was re-sheathed, and she handed it to her partner, saying in English, "Melissa, this is an antique. Guard it well, but do _not_ use it. I will reclaim it later."

She started to herd the children out, when Paul looked up, asking, "Are you a real ninja?"

"I am."

"She's gonna kick your butt."

"We shall see, Paul-kun. Wayne-chan undergoes her own examination. Hurry along, now."

------------------------

"They are outside?"

"They are, although..." he motioned to the windows, where faces pressed against the glass. He moved to the blinds, lowering them to a barely-heard "Aww!"

"My gratitude," she said, as he motioned a heavyset fellow to the attack.

------------------------

"Ah, Ms. Miller," the ninja said, as he held the door for a slim colleague, holding two brawny but unconscious figures on her shoulders. "The examination is complete. You may return, and services will resume shortly." He bowed; wishing her a "Good day," as two others limped out, supporting themselves between themselves.

"Holy crap!" Melissa said, surveying the totally wrecked classroom. She heard a low moan, and tossed aside a couple chairs to find her partner, one leg at an odd angle. She moaned, and tried to sit up, "What a headache." Several kids peeked in the room, looking around in the oscillating light from the dangling fluorescent fixture, which spat out sparks and light from one working tube. "No worse'n when the Knights won the league cham..." as she faded into unconsciousness.

------------------------

The warden's phone rang, and he turned to look at the cursed device. Over the last few days, the facility's phones and computers had been ... squirrelly. There was no other word for it. It rang again, and he picked it up. "Webster."

"Sir, we have reports of ninja being seen in the vicinity of the classrooms, the second-grade classroom is completely trashed; Wayne is unconscious, and in the infirmary with multiple cuts and a broken leg."

"Wonderful. Do we have any witnesses?"

"Just Ms. Miller, the teacher assigned to that class. According to her, twenty to thirty honest-to-god ninja showed up, said they were there to test Wayne, and escorted her and the kids outside to safety. They let them back in an hour later, and sir, you have got to see that classroom. Trashed doesn't even _begin_ to describe it."

"Where the hell were the guards?"

"Drugged, sir, and they're still sleeping it off."

"Wonderful. I'll be down in a minute."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 14, 2001:  
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (infirmary): 22:21 (GMT -5) _**  
------------------------

Mattie awoke suddenly, asking, "The kids?"

"Safe," Sheila Hawking said, putting down her magazine. "As is Ms. Miller."

"Good, tha' good..." she murmured. "Th' sword?"

"In the trunk of my rental car," her aunt replied. "Sleep, now."

"'Kay..."

------------------------


	6. 15 – 21 July, 2001

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
6: 15 – 21 July, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 15, 2001:  
West Virginia, Monongahela National Forest, Spruce Knob: 04:31 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Michael Greenbriar sniffed at the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon. '_Andi's up early_,' he thought, the early morning fuzziness having him think his wife was still alive. '_Waitaminute..._' he thought, and bolted out of his tent.

"Good morning," an oriental woman said, reclining on a black bear's carcass, one of his crossbow bolts protruding from its eye. She sipped coffee from one of his mugs, adding, "You're a good shot if you're getting rabbit with a crossbow. Breakfast will be ready soon, go wash up, we'll talk after you've had your coffee."

"Who?"

"My name is Shiva," she said with a smile. "Go on, wash up, I'll wait."

------------------------

"I must thank you, Ms. Shiva, that was one of the better breakfasts I've had," he said, putting his plate aside. He held up the coffee pot in offer, topping off her cup, then his. "What can I do for you?" settling back on his camp chair, while she reclined against the bear.

"More about my giving you some information that you won't get from any other source," she replied. "First, let me tell you a bit about myself, you can confirm through your channels. My name is Lady Shiva, I'm a mercenary, one of the better ones if I do say so myself."

He motioned with his mug, and she continued, "There are things you need to know that Wayne or her attorney won't tell you. First, Luthor hired me to kidnap Wayne and her friends in London, and steal her starship. My price was a blank Presidential pardon, dated to the last day of his term."

"You failed, though."

"I got a much better offer," she corrected. He gazed at her, thinking, '_Better than a Presidential pardon_?' She smiled, "What that offer is, I won't say. Be careful, you're swimming with sharks, Judge. Only one of them is in prison, and that's entirely her decision."

He took a sip of coffee, only to see his mug was empty. Shiva stood, refilled his cup and then hers. "I'd better make a fresh pot, we've got a bit to talk about," she added.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 15, 2001:  
West Virginia, Alderson Federal Prison (infirmary): 17:17 (GMT -5) _**  
------------------------

"Awake at last, aren't you?" one of the nurses asked. "The doctor wanted to see you, and your attorney left a file for you. Email and news clippings – you made the front of the local paper."

"Thanks," Mattie said, trying to sit up. The nurse tutted, raised the bed, and passed her the file. She looked up from the article in the Gotham Post when the doctor cleared her throat. Offering her hand, she said, "Hello, I'm Mattie Wayne. How are the kids, and Melissa?"

"They're fine, although dying of curiosity," the doctor said, taking her pulse. She grabbed a blood-pressure cuff, and Mattie obediently rolled up her dressing gown's sleeve. She grunted like all doctors do, adding, "They want to see you," and put her stethoscope in her ears. "Breathe deeply, now."

------------------------

_14 July, 2001  
To: Ms. Sheila Hawking  
CC: Severus Snape  
From: Minerva McGonagall  
Subject: Ms. Wayne  
_

_Dear Ms. Hawking, _

_I was alarmed to hear of Ms. Wayne's arrest, and greatly disturbed that assassins would break into her classroom. Please let me know of her condition, and that of the children. _

Mattie raised her hand, and waved at the nurse, "Could I get a pen, and a legal pad? I'd like to make some notes." The nurse handed her a cheap black US government pen from a pocket, returning a minute later with a pad. Returning to the email, Mattie read:

_Regarding her schooling, Ms. Granger has offered to coach her in the necessary potions so she may remain with her class. As you may know, Ms. Granger is one of only a handful of Potion Mistresses worldwide, and is the youngest in several hundred years. _

_Professor Flitwick sends his best, as does Professor Chang. They have asked me to forward the charms and spells she will need to work on in order to pass her examinations, these notes are attached. _

_Regarding Quidditch, as Ms. Wayne was not available for most of the school term, she will need to compete for her position as Slytherin's Seeker again. With her already-busy schedule, she may wish to forego it (loathe as I am to say so), as her academics must come first, no matter how talented a player she is. _

_However, we will be hosting other schools in the International Academic Quidditch tournament in the spring (around Easter break). IF she can keep her studies up with the other demands on her time, Hogwarts may have a chance for the cup. For this reason, the annual student/alumni game will be cancelled. I ask you (and Ms. Wayne) to keep the above in confidence, however. _

_Minerva McGonagall  
_

Mattie frowned, and turned to the next page:

_July 14, 2001  
To: Ms. Sheila Hawking  
From: Arthur Morton  
Subject: Mattie  
Priority: Urgent  
_

_Ms. Hawking,  
The news just had an article about an attempted riot in the West Virginia prison where Mattie is. What is her condition? _

_Arthur and the Mortons_

Mattie clicked her cheap pen, and scribbled on the bottom:

_7/15/2001, about 17:30  
Aunt Sheila: _

_Arthur and Julie know about Lady Shiva, please let them know I'm ok, if a bit banged up, and there was no riot. You can also give them a general update on the case, for their information only.  
M.W. _

_14 July, 2001  
To: Ms. Sheila Hawking  
From: Lois Lane  
Subject: Mattie_

_Priority: Urgent  
_

_Sheila,  
What's happening with Mattie? _

_Lois and Clark _

Mattie clicked her pen again, and scribbled:

_Please let them know! _

_M.W.  
_

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 16, 2001:  
Beckley, West Virginia, Division 5, 4th US Circuit Court: 08:51 (GMT-5) _**  
------------------------

"Nice dress," Sheila teased.

"Thanks," Mattie replied as she sat down, leaning her crutch against the table. "Not really my style, but my shirt and shorts wouldn't work for court, so I borrowed. Anything new?"

"Not really. Play innocent like you've been doing, and..."

"All rise! The Fourth US Circuit Court is now in session, the Honorable Michael Greenbriar, presiding!"

"Please be seated," the judge said, banging his gavel. He looked over his glasses, "Miss Wayne, we finally meet. How's your leg?"

"It still twinges a bit, your honor. Thank you for asking."

"Well, I won't ask you to jump up and down if your leg pains you. You're excused from the standing and sitting." He turned his attention to the government attorney, "Mr. Paulson, do you have a different reason for holding Ms. Wayne?"

He stood, "If it please the court, we'd like to request a conference in chambers, your honor."

"It's a simple question, Mr. Paulson, with a simple response. Yes or no?"

"In consultation with my superiors, we feel that our position has been adequately stated, your honor."

"In other words, no, we're just supposed to trust the government." There was laughter from the spectators, and the judge smiled briefly. "I am tempted, Mr. Paulson, to award massive damages, but the plaintiff doesn't need the money, and the taxpayers don't need the extra bite in their wallets. I find in favor of the plaintiff, she is awarded one dollar in cash damages and a personal apology from Mr. Luthor." The gavel banged, and the judge added, "Now then, Ms. Hawking, you can answer your phone."

"That's not my phone, your honor," Sheila said, digging through her purse, "It's Mattie's, and I can't get it to stop."

She extracted a small device from a hotel towel, handing it to her niece, who said, "It's Alfred, your honor. May I answer it?"

"Please do, I am curious to see what a starship has to say."

She touched it, "Wayne."

"Captain, there you are. How is your court case?"

"I won, Alfred, and we're not private. What's the problem?"

"I am a receiving a directional, low power distress signal. It originates about twenty light-minutes out, beyond the Asteroid belt. Shall I respond?"

"You have to," Mr. Paulson said. "Admiralty law and custom all say you respond to a distress signal." He grinned at their faces, "I'm not your enemy, Ms. Wayne. It's the Coast Guard in me. You may be able to get a salvage contract out of it."

"Interesting bit of law..." Sheila mused.

Mattie cleared her throat, "Your honor, if we're finished, may we be dismissed? Am I released from jail?"

He smiled, "Yes, you are. Evie," he addressed his clerk, "Please fax over a release notice to Alderson. They'll have your things packed up for you, although couldn't Superman respond?"

"I don't know your honor." She addressed her comm, "Alfred, the JLA probably received this signal. What's their response, and what's our ETA?"

"They reply that Mr. Superman is unavailable, and Mr. Lantern is off-planet. At our maximum zero stress acceleration of sixteen gravities, our travel time is approximately twenty six hours." He paused a minute, "The ship's captain is dead, his cargo sent the distress signal."

"His cargo?" Judge Greenbriar asked.

"The ship is a T'kas class slaver," Alfred replied emotionlessly. "There is one dead crewmember, the captain, and thirty-seven slaves. Third squad is aboard me, shall I pick you up?"

"A _slaver_?" Judge Greenbriar hissed.

"The dirty underside to interstellar trade," Mattie said. "There's an interstellar slave trade, and the Guardians aren't interested in stopping it." She addressed her comm, "Alfred, lift off. When can you be here?"

"I am lifting off from your school; First Officer Bundy, Ms. Granger and Ms. Sinistra are aboard. Fifty-seven minutes for a ballistic trajectory. I will meet you at the parking lot."

"Can I help?" the Judge and Mr. Paulson asked simultaneously.

"What's my legal situation with this?" Mattie asked. "Are the slaves cargo, passengers, or crew? What do I do with them?"

"Why a directional signal?" Mr. Paulson asked.

Mattie shrugged, raising her hands in a 'don't know' gesture. "I could use some expert advice in this," she said with a slight smile. "Got some vacation time? A federal judge might be useful too."

Judge Greenbriar banged his gavel, telling his clerk, "Evie, cancel my docket for the rest of the week. There aren't too many chances to start a new branch of law."

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 16, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 09:36 (GMT-5) _**  
------------------------

The phone rang, Elena answering, "Elena Morton." She waited a second; then said, "Sure Mrs. Grayson, he's out back. Just a second," walking out to the back yard, she handed the portable phone to her brother, "It's Mrs. Grayson for you." She took a seat on the picnic table, watching the spell practice as Julie drilled her younger brother.

"Arthur Morton," he said, taking a seat. He listened intently, then exhaled, "Thank you, Mrs. Grayson. I'm sure she'll be fine." The phone beeped, and he said, "I have another call, maybe that's her. Thanks again for letting me know." He thumbed the phone, "Arthur Morton." A grin split his face, "Hey, me. How are things in West-by-god-Virginia? Kick butt as usual?" He sat back to listen, then said, "Okay. Be safe." He thumbed the phone's kill switch; telling his siblings, "She won; she was awarded one dollar and an apology from Luthor. However, she's got to go rescue a vessel in distress. Superman and Green Lantern aren't available, so the _Yates_ is going." He exhaled, "She's not sure what's going to happen with that. It's a slaver, the owner's dead, the slaves called for help."

"She's a trouble magnet," Elena said softly. "I like her, but..."

"At least we're never bored," her brother replied.

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 16, 2001:  
Beckley, West Virginia, Courthouse, South parking lot: 10:05 (GMT-5) _**  
------------------------

The Yates ghosted silently over the rows of cars, landing in the last. The forward boarding hatch lowered, and the four people (one with a crutch), made their way aboard. The ramp rose, and the ship quickly lifted off.

------------------------

"Comrade Lieutenant Yvschenko, I believe you've met my aunt, Ms. Hawking, and this is Federal Judge Greenbriar, and Mr. Paulson, who is a federal attorney."

"Comrades," the lieutenant said in a New England accent. With his lean build, tanned features and a change of clothing he could have fit in any fishing village in the Northeast. He grinned, "Spetsnaz. I command one of the multinational squads protecting Comrade Alfred." He patted a bulkhead, adding, "I understand we face a boarding action with salvage. Comrades, what do you bring to the table?"

Mr. Paulson cleared his throat, "I served twelve years with the US Coast Guard doing Search and Rescue and salvage operations before getting my law degree. I am certified to practice in Admiralty courts. Your Honor?"

Judge Greenbriar said, "I'm a federal judge, admiralty and salvage disputes can be heard in either federal or admiralty courts. We have a new area of law here; does law on Earth extend to the solar system?"

Mattie stood, "I'll leave you to argue it out. I'm going to park myself in the autodoc and get my leg fixed; then be in my cabin. I apologize for not having quarters for everyone; the Yates is a courier ship, not a liner."

------------------------

The legal people had taken over a corner of the ship's common room to discuss applicable law. Hermione Granger listened to them for a few minutes, but as in any specialist's discussion, it quickly went over her head. Anne motioned to her; she joined the ship's first officer on the flight deck. The hatch closed, she took a seat at the helm, looking out at the endless night. "I never thought I'd be in space," she said softly. "I thought that was only for the Russians and Yanks. Now..."

"That doth remind me, I must acquire astronaut certificates for all," Anne said, making a note on a legal pad. Sinistra spun about from her position at the navigation console, motioning to her laptop, "What are you working on?"

"'Tis a personal project, to keep my mind flexible," Anne admitted shyly. "I am writing navigational software, following the Captain's premise that we learn more if we doth 'do it ourselves'." She flashed a smile, leaning forward to gesture animatedly, "The first part was easiest, 'twas simply moving 'tween two points on a sphere, 'tis simple four dimensional spherical trigonometry."

Hermione blinked, shaking her head at the thought of the higher mathematics as Sinistra nodded, adding, "Now you're moving between two different points on two different spheres, and..."

"And the equations do not balance," Anne admitted. "I hath looked at the code a dozen times, but the answer doth elude me yet." She sighed, "I had hoped to use the same reference tables, to make the program easier to update, but it doth look like I shall have to scrap that idea."

"Hmm," Sinistra mused, "Are you taking gravity into account?"

"On the surface, aye, and accounting for escape velocity..." Anne's eyes glazed over; suddenly she slapped her forehead. "Such a dunce am I! I hath forgotten of Einstein's gravity postulate! I need to factor in variables of 'C'..." She flipped to a fresh page of her legal pad, scribbling madly.

"So, Hermione, what's been happening with you?" Sinistra asked.

------------------------

A bell dinged, Alfred announcing, "Five minutes to turnover. Please secure all loose objects."

Anne was oblivious, alternating between rapidly typing on her laptop and scribbling on her legal pad. Sinistra said, "I'll take care of her, can you check on Miss Wayne?"

"Certainly," Hermione said, now intimately acquainted with one of a spacer's problems: boredom. She stood, stretched, took a last look at the stars and left the flight deck. Passing through the common room, she glanced at the sleeping soldiers, clearing her throat at the solicitors, who had produced legal pads and laptops, reminding them, "Turnover."

Pressing the annunciator, she asked, "Miss Wayne? It's turnover, Professor Sinistra asked me to check on you." There was no answer, and she triggered the door, opening it to see the young girl, changed into a skinsuit, a grey jumpsuit over it, a green glow over her right hand as she slumped at the desk, sleeping.

Moving quietly, Hermione saw a Power Battery sitting in a niche, a Green Lantern's Ring on Miss Wayne's finger. '_That explains quite a bit_,' she thought, leaning forward to shake her shoulder...

... and was slammed against the wall. Miss Wayne shook her head, "Sorry," she said, "You should have been warned not to wake me like that."

Hermione nodded as she was released, "Miss Bundy is deep into her programming at the moment. Don't you have a perimeter spell going?"

"My magic's not working well at the moment," she replied, and Hermione nodded, "Neither is mine. We're squibs at the moment, it seems." She took a seat on the bunk, nodding at the glowing Battery. "That explains some things," she added.

"Which you'll kindly not spread about," Miss Wayne growled, Hermione fingering her throat and nodding. "I'm serving as an inertial compensation sink at the moment, or rather, the Ring is," she explained. "Without it, we'd be limited to sixteen gravities for something like a week, and we don't have time for that. As it is, I need to recharge the Ring." She stood, holding the Ring against the Battery for a few seconds; then resuming her seat.

"That's it?" Hermione asked. "I thought there was an oath."

"Oh, the whole 'In brightest day, in blackest night' thing?" She shook her head, "Not me, and it's not required. Hold it to the Battery for about ten seconds, that's it. I'm rather irritated with the damned Guardians at the moment, anyway." She eyed her guest, "You heard about last year's Leaving Feast?"

"Rumours," Hermione confessed.

"Well, let me make an appearance outside, then since you're my Potions tutor, we can talk a bit more," Miss Wayne said, standing and stretching.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, July 17, 2001:  
Sol System, Asteroid Belt, _**Cassidy Yates**_: 00:03 (relative) _**  
------------------------

"Hailing the _F'na'd_," Alfred said. "No response as yet."

Minutes went by slowly, when suddenly a screen flared to life. A panting, red-skinned slave appeared, her collar glowing against her perspiring neck, "_F'na'd_ here," she replied, adding, "Thank the Source, masters. Please help us!"

"We are maneuvering to dock with you," Lieutenant Yvschenko said. "What is your status?"

"Air is..." she panted, "...mostly gone." She manipulated controls, centering a camera on a clearly dead, orange skinned being slumped in a command chair. She panned the camera around, the only other being in sight was a slumped, feathered slave chained at the helm, a pair of wings bound tightly behind it. She touched controls, adding, "Giving you... access I can. Hope... enough," and collapsed across her board.

"I have computer access," Alfred announced. "Restarting environmental plant, although there are dangerously high levels of methane and carbon dioxide. I would advise helmets, it will not be pleasant." Alfred split-screened, keeping the camera on the bridge while he flicked through the cargo holds, then returning to one. "There are possible humans in the cargo holds," he reported.

------------------------

"Why did you send a low power beam to Earth?" Mr. Paulson asked gently, as he held the red-skinned slave up as she sucked greedily on a small oxygen bottle. "Why not a full power broadcast?"

She reluctantly took the mask away, carefully turning the knob to close it. "Your planet is noisy, Master, but I saw nothing of slaves in your broadcasts; much of the ones you call 'heroes'. In addition, I did not want to attract the attention of the Masters in your asteroid's tungsten mine."

"We don't have a tungsten mine in the asteroid belt," Sheila said carefully.

"You do not, Mistress?" She blinked in surprise; adding with a gesture to her locked slave belt, "With Masters' permission, it has been several day-parts since I have been unchained. May I be excused to cleanse and void waste?"

"Certainly," Sheila said, rising and helping the slave to stand in the minimal gravity. As she hobbled off, her ankle chains welded on and clutching her oxygen bottle, Sheila looked at Paulson. "I haven't heard of an asteroid mining operation, have you?"

He shook his head, "If we're going to assume international law extends to the solar system boundaries; then it sounds like a pirate operation. Only, why mine tungsten?"

She sighed, "The cat's out of the bag. Tungsten is the galactic currency; it's why the system's invaded so often. We're a bunch of ignorant barbarians sitting on a mountain of it."

"Ah..." he said. "And that same international law prohibits governments from militarizing space..." he mused, then looked at Sheila, "But not private concerns, like Arrowhead."

"Or a private firm like a ... Solar Guard," she said, "Which can take government funding..."

"Which would take some fancy legal footwork, as well as financial," he admitted. "Know any bankers?"

"Several," she admitted. "Know where to base it?"

"New York," he said instantly. "Not only for friendlier maritime and salvage laws, but for political reasons. We'll need the UN, and we need the US behind it, as well as the Security Council." He grinned, "I did have one term in Congress, so if the Guard's hiring a lobbyist..."

"Comrades," the Lieutenant said, joining the conversation, "This is something we have discussed over beer and vodka. We do not have the manpower, or the ships, or the weapons. While Comrade Captain Wayne has a firm in Warsaw designing and building equipment, we do not have the support structure yet to guard this system properly." He regarded them, "A proper unit like we need cannot be multinational; it must leave nationality behind, like the French Foreign Legion."

"You would get ex-convicts, all sorts of ..."

"Some of the finest soldiers have been ex-convicts, Comrade," he replied, "As have women. In the Great Patriotic War, some of our finest fighters were women. There is no reason beyond training that women could not have done this action today, and training is the purpose of cadre." He smiled grimly, "From what Comrade Alfred has said, not all planets support the slavers, but spaceports can be dangerous places regardless. If we are to move beyond the cradle of Earth into the wide galaxy, our crews should know how to defend themselves and their shipmates. Our crews should be respected, and known not to be trifled with."

"They need to be able to kick ass and take names," Sheila said, "Both in business and in a fight."

"Exactly, Comrade."

------------------------

Cicely 'Ceece' Collins knelt on the cold metallic deck, wrists held behind her in steel cuffs, neck and ankles chained to the deck, and wondered. Her world had turned upside down since the night the orange alien had captured her outside Phoenix. Her car had suddenly died; her brown Lab, Cocoa, shut inside while she tried to decipher the car's engine. Her cell phone had refused to power on, when she collapsed next to the car.

She woke, man... er, woman handled by naked alien women who wore the slave collar she now did, as well as the steel panty that held her wrists behind her, and was up ...inside... her. Now, the subtle vibration of the ship's engines she felt through her knees had stopped, and while the air had become foul with the fear scents of the other slaves in her hold, it had improved somewhat. She was hungry, thirsty, sticky with sweat, and her bladder demanded attention.

She had seen news of Superman, and knew there were aliens out there, but being confronted with them in front of her had fractured her comfortable little world. The thought that she was now slave to an alien master filled her with fear, not knowing where in the galaxy she was, or what would happen to her.

She heard the hatch open, and blindfolded, tensed in fear. Instead, she heard something she didn't dare hope for:

A human voice.

"Hello. My name is Mattie Wayne, captain of the _Cassidy Yates_. I'm here to help."

------------------------  
_**Tuesday, July 17, 2001:  
Sol System, Asteroid Belt, 15 Eunomia, **Cassidy Yates**: 08:16 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"So how do we take it?" Mattie asked, as they watched a battered looking freighter enter a docking tunnel. According to the plans on the _F'na'd_, the tunnel extended about five hundred meters before exiting into a docking bay. Two force fields served as crude 'airlock' for ships, with only a single force field for each passenger and cargo tunnel.

"Is it legal to?" Sheila asked.

"It's not authorized by any Terran government, or by the UN," Mr. Paulson replied. "Pirate operations are subject to closure and confiscation by the government or suitable authority. That's us."

"So ruled," Judge Greenbriar said, knocking on a panel. He paused; asking, "So, how do we take it?"

"Comrades, the entrance force fields only hold in atmosphere," the Lieutenant said. "We disable their remote control, and prepare to blow them if necessary. That would kill everyone in the bay when it decompresses. Comrade Alfred blocks the passageway, prepared to fire." He looked at the two slaves present, "For their protection, they must immediately start for the inner system. We shall catch up; Comrade First Officer Bundy will serve as a prize captain. After that?" he shrugged, "We shall see what we find. The enemy consists of pirates and smugglers, not professional soldiers. While they are undoubtedly armed, it should be with light weapons, such as pistols, not assault rifles."

"Capture, not kill," Mattie said.

"Any slaves and noncombatants, certainly," the Lieutenant agreed. "If they resist, my troops will use their best judgment, Comrade Captain. This is Earth's first combat action, we cannot restrict their actions." She nodded reluctantly.

"From my days with the 101st Airborne," the Judge said, "I would suggest that we fly a spiral around the asteroid, and drop off troops at the two emergency locks, while we scan for other entrances." He gestured at the hologram of the potato-shaped asteroid base, marked with known features. "If we don't find any, Alfred blocks the ship entrance, and we make our main assault."

------------------------

The bored duty controller watched his holo. The old ship, her beacon identifying her as the _Cassidy Yates_, had sat in space for several time-parts; flown an odd spiral around the base. He yawned; motioning the lighter-skinned slave over. Grabbing her wrist chains, he started to fondle her, wondering idly why her eye-slits narrowed. '_Surely she knows she is a slave_!' he thought, amused. The speaker announced, "Base, this is the Terran Solar Guard. This is an illegal base, you are under arrest. Disable your weapons and prepare for boarding."

With a laugh, he shoved the slave off, leaning forward to answer by blowing the idiot out of space. Instead, he felt a chain slide around his throat, twisting and cutting off his air. Choking, he fumbled for his side arm, only to find it... gone.

With a vicious yank, Hideo Tanaka snapped her former master's neck, while her partner blasted the door lock. The African beauty grinned, "I saw it in a movie," while Hideo shoved the corpse out of the way. Touching the comm, she said, "Guard, this is Tanaka and Mfume. Control room secure for now. Come ahead!"

------------------------

"Lock alpha is secure," Sgt. Rivers radioed as his partner applied the scrambler to the hatch lock. "Moving to point Rhein," he added, assault rifle ready. Hans nodded, chalking an X on the hatch. They moved up the corridor in this residential part of the base, stopping at someone's quarters. Hans scanned, shaking his head to indicate it was unoccupied, and resetting the door's code with the scrambler. He chalked the door, moving across the hall. Holding up one finger, he tripped the hatch while Rivers covered him. Inside, there was a slave, who looked up, startled. She was quickly cuffed, gagged and chained to the wall; the door chalked '1s' while the door combination was reset. They moved up the corridor.

------------------------

There was a pounding on the door to the control room, Mfume crouching behind the control panels, pistol raised, while Tanaka took cover. Someone called, "Open this door! It's the Guard!

"What's the password, Master?" Tanaka called.

"Botswana," the reply came, and the two breathed in relief. "We shot the door controls. We'll try to open it," Tanaka called, yanking at the material they had used to wedge the door in its frame while Mfume covered her.

------------------------

The door hissed open, SarMaj Wilson edging in, rifle at the ready. He saw an African girl awkwardly holding a tiny sidearm, pointing at him; eyes of an Asian girl peeking from behind a console. "Easy there, love, I'm Wilson of the SAS. We're with the Solar Guard," he told the African girl, rifle aimed at her midsection. Behind him, the Lieutenant came in, his AK covering the slumped alien in the chair and the hiding girl.

"Mfume," the African girl said, licking her lips. She added, "She's Hideo Tanaka, what's the world capital?" Her wrist chains swung as she held the gun awkwardly at arm's length, and there was a rattle of chain from behind the console.

"We don't have one, love," the SarMaj replied. "The UN's headquartered in New York, though. Will that do?" He reached out a hand, and Mfume took a step back, her ankle chains making a slithering sound on the smooth stone.

"Don't forget the UN in Geneva," the Lieutenant added. "Anything else?"

"Who won the last World Cup?" Tanaka asked.

"The '98 Cup?" the Lieutenant asked. "France over Brazil, 3-0. Come on out, we won't harm you."

"Last cup was Brazil, though!" Mfume said, raising the gun again.

The SarMaj shook his head, "That was 1994, love, this is 'ought one. How long have you been here?"

"Longer than I thought," Mfume said, dropping her arms. The SarMaj eased the handgun out of her loose grip, sliding it in a pocket. He gave her shoulders a hug, telling her, "Look on the bright side, love. We're here. If you and your mate can move that bloke out of the chair, we'll see about those chains."

"We tried to get them off, we're not strong enough or something," Tanaka said, emerging from behind the console. The lieutenant was examining the corpse, she added, "I strangled him with my chains."

"So I see," he said, adding, "Best make sure." He slung his rifle, and twisted the corpse's head with a sudden 'crack'. He motioned Mfume over, "Can you get his feet?"

------------------------

SarMaj Wilson shifted, extracting the small handgun from his pocket. '_Wonder where the safety is on it_?' he wondered as he put it behind him on the console. He looked over at the two mostly nude slave girls sitting against the wall. The Japanese girl caught him looking, smiled, and thrust out her chest, wiggling a bit and pulling a bit at her cuffed wrists. She was excited, you could always tell with a bird. He cleared his throat, "Certain you don't want something to, er, cover..." he offered.

She chuckled, "A slave has no use for modesty. It's a little cool, but I'm fine, thank you. A bit bored, I'd like to help, but you learn patience in a collar."

The African girl muttered something, glancing sullenly at the two men. The Japanese girl's expression flickered, and she bowed from the waist, "Please excuse me, sergeant-san. The slave next to me is harboring delusions that need correcting."

She shifted, moving to the balls of her feet, leaning forward for balance. "I am tired of your attitude, Mfume-slave. For the last six years, we have been cellmates, and I have listened to your whining and complaints. Never where Masters could hear and discipline you, but I heard them. I heard that your father, the richest man in Africa, was going to ride to your rescue, and if I was nice to you, you would consider the possibility of asking him to take me with you as _your_ slave." She sneered, "My father has undoubtedly written me off as kidnapped. I will owe my father a fingertip for the dishonor of being taken alive; another for the dishonor of being enslaved." She glowered, "A tradition in the Yakuza clans, you understand, unless you are aware of a way to remove our collars, we remain slaves in the galaxy, no matter what occurs on Earth."

Mfume squeaked, shoving herself away as Tanaka, hands still bound, spun and kicked Mfume in the belly. She oofed, standing, she launched a kick at Tanaka's steel-covered groin, but Tanaka, despite a howl of pain, trapped her foot between her thighs and flipped Mfume to the hard stone, belly down. "That HURT, you bitch!" Staying down, she added, "At least your ridiculously huge chest cushioned the fall!" She grinned at the two soldiers, and winked, "Didn't know it hurt girls to get kicked there, did you?"

"You both have very nice ... assets," the SarMaj offered politely. "I don't think you need to continue, though."

"Yes, Master," Tanaka said, releasing Mfume and resuming her place against the wall, balancing on her toes and keeping an eye on Mfume.

"You also don't need to continue as Master and slave," the Lieutenant said. "As far as we're concerned, you're free."

"Thank you," Hideo said, "However, unless you know something I don't, we're in a new area of law. As I understand it, we were enslaved legally, under interstellar commercial codes, which mean we're still slaves. However, Earth international law prohibits slavery, but that's only on Earth. That would mean we're free on Earth, but not off it, so I think I'd better keep calling you Master, Master." She looked puzzled, "When did Earth develop starships?"

"We have not, we arrived in Comrade Captain Wayne's ship," the Lieutenant replied. "We have a Yank judge and some lawyers; they're sorting out the law. We have been reverse-engineering a great deal of galactic technology, but we are still a distance to building our own ships. You are in an asteroid."

"Arigato, Lieutenant-san," she replied with a bow. Mfume, who had flopped around until she was on her knees, sprang to her feet and charged at the control desk, where the small alien sidearm lay; pulling at her cuffed wrists. She was caught by the SarMaj with an arm around her waist, which pulled her over his shoulder, screaming and kicking at him.

Hideo sighed along with the Lieutenant, as Mfume cried, "No, I don't want to be a slave! Please, free me, let me go! Oh, please, please!"

"I said she was a whiner," Tanaka said as the SarMaj lost control of her wildly kicking feet for a moment. He went 'Oof', asking, "What can we do with her?"

"Well, we can't remove the collars, or even turn them off without killing the slave or rendering her a quadriplegic. It links to the spinal cord somehow, and it's hard to hide, so she needs to accept her collar." Tanaka shrugged, "You're going to have a lot of slaves that are going to need discipline, even if the Solar Guard considers them free," she added. "A lot of aliens won't, and I wonder how the legal issues are going to shake out."

"You seem to have the most realistic attitude," the Lieutenant told Tanaka. "Until the legal issues get sorted, do you want to take charge of the slaves we'll bring back with us?"

"Full control?" she asked.

"I think we'd prefer you not kill or maim anyone, but we'll need to get ships loaded and such. Any usable skills would be nice to know, also."

"I can do that, but I'll need some form of authority the offworld slaves would recognize," Tanaka said, "I'll go see what's in the cabinets," she said, turning and wiggling her bound wrists at them, "If you would, Master?"

------------------------

"You are a stupid bitch," Hideo told Mfume, who glowered at her. "I'd rather be doing something useful." She jerked the chain; looking at where the SarMaj had written the new room combination on her hand, typing it into the door's lock. The door slid open, a slave knelt gagged and chained to the wall as they entered.

------------------------

Judge Greenbriar and Mr. Paulson interviewed the captives, who had been split into two groups, the former 'free' persons, and the slaves, who had meekly submitted to being cuffed, and who sat against the cavern wall, waiting for their interview. Their former owners had been searched and bound, the decision had been made to secure everyone, slave or free. A burst of automatic weapons fire echoed down one corridor, causing everyone to turn and look.

------------------------

"Beta team to control, over," the radio spat.

"Control, beta, go," the Lieutenant said.

"A master was ignoring our calls to halt, even over the translator, so we fired into the ceiling. His slave has a bloody shoulder from falling rock, the master's dead with a head injury, corridor Beta three. We've secured the slave with a field dressing."

"Copy dead master, injured slave," he said.

------------------------

"Definite page three birds; mate," Sergeant Wilson murmured, watching Tanaka and Mfume on the control room screens with a pair of redheaded twins, arms cuffed and linked through Mfume's. One twin was separated from her sister and resecured, then the other as they were directed to sit with the other un-interviewed slaves.

"Da, comrade," the Lieutenant said softly. "Pity we cannot sell the video." He watched a moment longer; then cleared his throat, "It would be _nekulturny_. How goes the search?"

"Nothing unusual," the sergeant replied, "This is a mine and general supply base. Food, fuel, let your crew use different girls than you might have on board." He looked at the Lieutenant, "It would make a great forward base for us, plenty of room, only about ten cubic kilometers in use out of fifteen million or so. We could use the mining equipment and whatnot to cut out training rooms, fighter bays and so forth."

"Sounds good, comrade," he said, watching troops bring in a bound officer, four of his slaves trotting along quietly. The officer spun, shouting something, stopping short at the point of Comrade Captain Wayne's sword was at his throat. The light flashed, reflecting off the blade into the camera lens, and the officer turned. "Intimidating, that sword," he mused. "Perhaps we should consider a shorter one as standard equipment for shore parties."

"We _are_ barbarians," the sergeant chuckled. "A katana, maybe? Beautiful bit of kit, and something useful, too."

------------------------

The judge's rock hammer banged on another bit of rock, and he said, "You're free to go, Captain Gor'zek, with our apologies. However, your slave will be freed..."

Gor'zek cleared his throat, "Unfortunately, she cannot be freed; she is under judicial enslavement. I have also invested quite a bit in her, and this delay is costing me in penalties and a perishable cargo." He stroked his kneeling slave's head in what appeared to be a comforting manner.

"Slavery is illegal in this system," the judge said gently. "I'm sure..."

"Please, master, I was enslaved by the court, I cannot be freed! Please let me leave with my master!" the yellow-furred slave begged, wrists cuffed behind her. Captain Gor'zek cleared his throat, "If I may take my slave and my compensation, I am behind schedule..."

"Ah, your compensation," the judge said, "How much was that, now?"

"My slave's mass in tungsten..."

"Five percent of her mass."

"Eighty percent."

"Ten."

"Seventy..." Gor'zek looked at the judge, "Fifty."

"Twenty, and not a gram more," he said, turning, "Captain, would you accompany the... girl... to fetch it?"

"Of course, your honor," Mattie said, waving for the girl to join her.

------------------------

As they walked across the smooth fused stone of the landing bay, the girl timidly asked, "Mistress?" Mattie eyed her and grunted, so she continued, "Masters would not have really... freed me, would you?"

"Of course we would," she replied irritably, then said, "Sorry. Females of my species have a monthly reproductive cycle that makes us moody and irritable. Forgive me. Of course we would free you, why shouldn't we?"

"Because I was enslaved by a court; I can never be legally freed." She swayed her left hip, "Not only my collar, but my implant show my status."

"Implant?" Mattie stopped, turning her to get a better look at the girl's neck. "The collar lights are yellow and green, I thought they were all yellow."

"You've dealt with slaves before, Mistress," the girl said, raising her chin to display her collar. "The yellow and green lights are a judicial enslavement; while just yellow means a common slave, who can be freed." She raised her eyebrow, and continued on toward the entrance to the mine, several hundred meters away. He bare feet slapped on the smooth stone, the only noise the click of her trimmed claws as she continued, "When a cub is born, on their first sun-turn, an implant is sealed into their hip, left for females, right for males. It has information the government needs, your citizenship number, tax status and so on. When I was collared, my implant was reset to slave." She shrugged, "I can't change my status, so I might as well make the best of it. I've found a good Master, who takes care of me."

The girl changed course, "We must hurry, Mistress. Let us take a cart." Mattie hopped behind the steering tiller of a cart, but nothing happened. The girl frowned, "It should recognize your implant, Mistress."

"I don't have a hip implant, none of us do," Mattie said, moving over with the command, "Just a speech implant. Drive."

"Y...yes, Mistress," the girl said warily, edging into the seat. Lights sprang into life as she leaned forward, "My hands, Mistress?"

"Of course," she said, leaning over to free them. "Drive."

------------------------

"Mistress, why are you so upset about slavery?" the girl asked, "It has been going on for billions of years," She looked over at Mattie, "I am sorry, Mistress, I did not mean to offend."

"No, I don't mind," she said. "Aside from the fact that we've had slaves ourselves, and we've finally made it illegal only a few hundred years ago, the thought of buying and selling another intelligent being to abuse and torture is repulsive." She shuddered, "It's one of those 'just plain wrong' things you run across in life," she added. She was quiet for a time, "It was a period in our history where we kidnapped innocents, took them far from their homes, forced them to work long hours in the field, growing crops, all for profit." She sighed, "Those who were victims have not forgotten, nor have we who were the perpetrators, to our shame. When we see an advanced civilization that has slaves... it is just WRONG."

"I see," the girl said quietly. She drove quietly; asking, "Please inspect my back, Mistress. Do you see any whip-marks?"

"No, but your collar..."

"Yes, Mistress, my collar. The last time Master activated the pain circuits, I had just been won in a card game." She looked over, "It is tradition to do so with a new slave, and it was only a few short time-parts." She tapped the tiller three times, "That long. Master has encouraged my education and Guild certification. While it costs him money, he recoups it in lower insurance rates." She looked over again, "I know, I keep the ship's books, and do the maintenance. Master is hopeless with accounting, but an astute trader."

"You're brainwashed," Mattie murmured.

The girl tapped her jaw, "That didn't translate, Mistress. 'Cleaning my follicles'?"

"Sorry, the word means you're persuaded of something that may not be accurate," she explained.

"As you are, you are persuaded by your planetary history. There are many, many worlds that have a different history." She braked, getting out, opening a force field, then asking, "What do you do with your criminals?"

"We lock them up in a secure place."

"Where they have the time to think up more evil?" she was shocked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to get some work out of them, and let them learn a trade?" She looked over, "Make a profit instead of costing tungsten? You can do it without working them to death, without brutality." She tapped her collar, "I killed a being with my speeder. I was young and foolish, and intoxicated. Which is better, that I pay my debt, or I sit in a cage, thinking of evil?"

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 20, 2001:  
Earth, New York City: 08:24 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Julio's phone rang, "Julio Pasquale, shift supervisor, Emergency Services. How can I help?"

"Please stand by for the Mayor..." there was a pause, then Hizzoner's voice, "Pasquale, I just got a call from the JLA. Wayne has four starships with a hundred aliens in need of medical attention."

Julio sat up, "Yes, sir. Is this the same Wayne from Gotham that owns a starship?"

"It is. I told them LaGuardia. Use my name if you need to, Pasquale. Don't screw this up!" There was a hum as the line disconnected.

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 20, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 12:20 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The phone rang, "Teela Morton," she answered. There was a hollow sound, then "Teela? Mattie here. You might want to turn on the news; otherwise you'll miss First Contact. We're crossing the moon's orbit, you've got about an hour." The line disconnected as Teela stared at the phone.

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 20, 2001:  
London, Granger Dental Services: 17:20 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Helen Granger picked up the line, "Granger Dental."

"H'lo, mum!" There was a slightly hollow sound to Hermione's voice. "You want to turn on the telly, you might see me on the news."

"News? What's wrong, dear?"

"I'm on a starship, mum, we're crossing the moon's orbit. If you turn on the telly, you'll catch First Contact in about an hour from New York."

"First Contact?"

"First Contact with aliens, mum. There's about fourteen different species on four different ships, and they're really... well, you'll see. Call my mobile after I've landed. Love you!"

The line disconnected, Helen called, "Alan! Quick, finish up, Hermione's going to be on the telly from New York!"

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 20, 2001:  
Ohio State University, Library reference department: 13:23 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

People watched in silence as the talking head babbled on; someone said, "There they are!" Four white blobs in the news helicopter's picture, slowly growing into four white ships in a diamond formation. Four F-15 fighters from the New York Air National Guard orbited below, waiting until they were low enough to escort. Someone muted the sound, and the group watched in silence as the fighters joined up, white missiles on the rails.

The news helicopter followed as the four white ships turned north over Flatbush and the roofs of Brooklyn, Staten Island visible to the left for a second. The four ships followed the Van Wyck Expressway, brake lights blossoming as motorists stopped to watch. The fighters peeled off as the ships looped to the west, settling outside Terminal B where dozens of ambulances waited, red and white emergency lights flashing, riot police holding back the reporters.

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 20, 2001:  
London, Granger Dental Services: 18:24 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Alan Granger held his wife as staff and patients watched GNN. They had seen the ships cross New York City, now they watched as paramedics waited impatiently. The lead ship (one of their patients had pointed out the British roundel on it) lowered its forward hatch, a young girl with long black hair and distinctive white blazes over her ears coming down, running to meet another ship.

"Gor, that's a bloody Wookie!" one of the patients, Mr. Hampstead said. The two hugged each other, the girl bowing deeply to another, taller Wookie with grey streaks in the brown fur. The Wookies howled at each other and others that appeared, the telly finally identifying the girl as 'Martha Wayne, Capt, _Cassidy Yates_'.

The brown-furred Wookie consulted with physicians, and paramedics started to run up boarding hatches, bringing down nude figures on stretchers. Helen gave a small shriek as Hermione appeared, helping a nude, red skinned girl down the hatch. Another figure followed, this one a feathered male, also nude and wearing a lighted collar. He leaned against the ship's hull, stretching a full set of wings and moving them about. He took a breath off a small green oxygen bottle, then flapping the wings, stirring up the odd bit of trash as one of the Wookies came over to howl at him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Helen was dialing her mobile, on the telly a few seconds later, Hermione opened hers. "Hello, Hermione, love. We're watching you on GNN." On the screen, Hermione looked over at the rank of cameras, Helen saying, "Over the girl's right shoulder, dear. What's that on her neck?" Hermione re-oriented, said something and waved, then disconnected. "She'll call us later; they're going to hospital for a checkup. Forest Hills, she said."

"What is that kit on their necks, and why aren't the Wookies wearing them?" Mr. Hampstead asked.

"They're slave collars," Helen said quietly.

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 20, 2001:  
Queens, Forest Hills medical center, auditorium: 15:17 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"... that concludes my opening remarks," the medical director told the press. "Miss Wayne, did you have something to add?"

Mattie stepped up, then taking a microphone off the podium, "I'm sorry, but being vertically challenged can be a pain sometimes," she said with a grin. People chuckled, "Some of you may recall that I was in jail, we received a distress call from the original ship; the _F'na'd_ when I was in court. By the way, I won my case; President Luthor owes me a dollar," she added with a smile.

"Judge Greenbriar was kind enough to accompany us, I'm glad, as there are quite a few legal issues that he'll address in a moment." She motioned to the Judge, who smiled and nodded. "Once there, we discovered an illegal mine and base in the asteroid 15 Eunomia, where quite a few slaves were being held, including some humans."

That statement caused quite a stir; she gave it a few seconds, then tapped the microphone with a fingernail. "If I may continue? Thank you. One problem the Judge will address is that some of those slaves were legally collared by courts in other solar systems; others were enslaved under interstellar commercial codes. Yes, there's a slave trade..."

More shouted questions, she tapped the microphone again. "I'm going to leave that question to the Judge, what I wanted to discuss is the formation of a Solar Guard. Right now, if there's a ship in distress, Superman or a Green Lantern responds. However, in this situation, they were not available, and so the _Yates_ and her merry band went. As you know, this system is invaded on a regular basis, we need to be able to see to our own defense, as well as rescue vessels in distress. However, various international treaties prohibit nations extending their military forces into space." She waited for the noise to settle again; then continued, "Therefore, my company, Arrowhead Investments, will be forming a subsidiary for the physical and economic defense of this system." She leaned forward, "Like the French Foreign Legion, there is no nationality in the Guard. We will also accept people who have made a mistake in life, and want a fresh start. We won't take people on the run, though; you need to be able to join legally." She grinned, "In Gotham, we're used to giving second chances. That concludes my remarks; I'll give you over to the Judge, now."

She resumed her seat, passing the microphone to him as he said, "Good afternoon, I'm Judge Greenbriar of the Third US Circuit Court. Let me go in chronological order, starting with the rescue of the _F'na'd_. As Captain Wayne said, we were in court when her ship, the _Yates_, received a distress call. As you know, admiralty law requires any ship able to respond to do so. The _F'na'd_ is a small slaver, her captain had died suddenly in his command chair, disabling her engines, which in turn disabled her life support. The two slaves chained on her bridge had no choice but to send a low power distress message to Earth, as they didn't want to attract the attention of the slavers in the asteroid mine..."

------------------------  
**Friday, July 20, 2001: _  
Grandview Heights, Morton Home: 19:56 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

The phone rang, Julie picking up the kitchen extension, "Julie Morton."

"Hey, Julie, it's Mattie. They're holding me overnight for observation, I got a really nice invitation that I wanted to pass along to you guys." Julie pulled out a seat, "What's the deal?" she asked.

"Well, I wasn't able to marry off Hank and Misty, but I've got another option if they're interested. How about a nice church wedding with a tropical honeymoon, all for free? This same person wants to meet you, Arthur and Bill. All you need is your passports, beach and casual wear. Everything else is provided; I know the last few days have been rather stressful."

"Creating your own navy? I would think so!"

There was a chuckle, "Solar Guard. Interested?"

"Who and where and how? Alfred again?"

"No, a bit more prosaic, a private jet picks you up at the University airport, and it's a branch of the Catholic Church. I'll see what I can do; you may have to settle for a lowly Bishop. Where is an island ninety miles south of Key West."

"That's Cuba!"

"You remembered your geography. Borrow Teela's camera. Kick it around, call my cell in a couple hours. I need someone to talk to, my roomie's fascinated by soaps, I hate having to explain shows I don't watch."

"Hang on, Misty's here, I'll ask," Julie said, holding her hand over the mouthpiece and giving a quick explanation.

Misty took the phone, "Mattie, we appreciate the thought, but honestly, our plans were to wait until after we graduate. By then we'll be ready to live on our own and have our own space. Right now, that wouldn't be possible." She grinned, adding, "Besides, I can't get Gran's wedding dress resized that quickly, and there's the invites, and all the other details. Sorry, we're going to have to pass." She paused, "Was this from your, um, Uncle?"

"Yep."

"Oh, gawd. Hang on, please." Misty covered the mouthpiece, turning to Hank, "Mattie's Uncle Fidel is offering this, a wedding in Havana, by the Catholic Church."

"A Bishop or better," Julie added, asking, "Uncle Fidel?"

"That means maybe an Archbishop to officiate," Misty said, "She doesn't do things by halves, does she?" She added, "Castro, Julie." She uncovered the phone, "Mattie? Um, this kinda came at me cold. Let me kick it around and get back to you, okay?"

"Okay, I thought you two were hot to get hitched. My bad, I was kinda thinking about my own, y'know? Let me know, I'll call his cell." The line disconnected.

Misty shook her head, "She has the private cell numbers for heads of state? Why does that not surprise me? And why is she thinking about her own wedding?" She looked at Julie, who had gone pale. "What?"

"She _knows_," Julie whispered. "She knows her future," and she looked at Hank and Misty, adding, "It involves us..."

"Oh, c'mon," Misty said. "She's probably been planning her wedding since she was six."

"Well... maybe..."

"How many bridesmaids are you going to have?"

"Four."

"Junior bride and groom?"

"No."

"Poofy sleeves on the bridesmaids?"

"Yes."

"Your dress color?"

"White of course, unless I can find a really nice off white antique lace."

"I rest my case."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 21, 2001:  
Queens, Forest Hills medical center, 5th floor dayroom: 09:02 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Hermione looked around the small dayroom. Off to one side, she saw Miss Wayne sitting with an older woman, and being bored, wandered over. Miss Wayne looked exhausted, but scraped up a smile and a "Hello, Hermione. I'd like you to meet my aunt, Lois Lane."

Running through her memory of names, she smiled, "Ms. Lane, I'm a big fan of the Reporter! I didn't know you were related to Miss Wayne, though."

"Godmother, actually," Ms. Lane said. "Mattie's got a live interview on GNN tomorrow; I stopped by to get her prepared with one of my interviews."

Miss Wayne groaned, and Hermione asked, "I thought the press were barred from seeing us until the doctors released us."

Lois gazed on her pityingly, "My dear, I'm _Lois Lane_. That's never stopped me before, and you're on my list of people I'd like to interview. Have an hour or two later?"

Hermione suddenly recalled Ms. Lane's interview with Cornelius Fudge, and turned white. "Um, I promised to oversee a ... a ... tiddlywinks competition. May I have a rain cheque?" Without waiting, she edged away, then turned and ran.

Mattie chuckled, "Thanks, I needed that. Now, what were you saying about recorders?"

Lois passed over a small tape recorder, and a ring box. "Don't trust their recordings, use your own. These are the same equipment I use, if they refuse to let you use the tape, smile and agree, and use this one from Clark." She tapped the ring box, continuing as Mattie opened it, "Crystal technology from the Fortress. It has a five meter range, put it on your right ring finger, and squeeze the twelve and six points to stop and start." Sliding the ring on her hand, she admired the feminine ring, a circlet of small stones with a central stone projecting above it a few millimeters. Lois smiled, saying, "If you're ready, we'll get started. I'll go easy for now, the 'Freshman Congressman cheating on his wife' level."

Mattie took a deep breath and nodded as Lois stood, taking a few steps away, then approaching again, "Good morning, Miss Wayne. I'm Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, and I would like to ask a few questions..."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, July 21, 2001:  
Metropolis, _**Daily Planet**_, Editor's office: 12:16 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Perry White."

"Hey, chief, it's Lois. Want an exclusive?"

"Lois! Where have you been? The newsroom hasn't been the same without you!" Perry rumbled, swiveling in his chair to look out his office window, "What exclusive?"

"Mattie Wayne, Judge Greenbriar, some of the other passengers and slaves, and..." she paused, "a bunch of ET's; including Mattie's Wookie buddy. Interested?"

"Of course, but I still want to see your god-daughter. Bring her by, would you? Social visit, of course."

"You got it, chief. Transfer me to copy?"

"Don't call me chief!" Perry White touched his phone's buttons to transfer.

------------------------


	7. 22 – 28 July, 2001

A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone. My creaking old computer finally died, so I had to restore from backup. The good news is that I am FINALLY Micro$oft free! I love Linux and Macs...

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
7: 22 – 28 July, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 22, 2001:  
Queens, Forest Hills medical center, 5th floor dayroom: 08:12 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Mattie spun, blocking Hideo's thrust and turning inside it, using it to flip her opponent. Tanaka slapped the mat, backflipping into a ready pose as Sheila watched. The two opponents started to circle again as the attorney's cell phone rang, "Sheila Hawking."

"Hai, Ms. Hawking," a voice said in Japanese. "Please stand by for the Ambassador." A few seconds later, a different male voice said, "Good morning, Ms. Hawking. I apologize for disturbing you so early in the morning, but I would ask a kindness. As you may know, your arrival two days ago was broadcast worldwide, including, of course, the Home Islands."

"Of course, how may I assist?" she replied in Japanese.

"Japan wishes to assist in the formation of the Solar Guard. In consultation with the Emperor and the Prime Minister, we hope to contribute in some small way." Sheila grinned, and the Ambassador continued, "Secondly, one of our pre-eminent businessmen has a daughter, Ms. Tanaka, whom you have rescued, and he wishes to see her for himself. A wise move, I believe."

"Completely understandable, and of course, we agree, if her physician permits."

"The physicians involved, as of our last report, are simply being extremely conservative. This is of course to their credit. If all involved are available, would a meeting at the hospital at 9:30 this morning be agreeable?"

"I believe so. We look forward to meeting at 9:30."

Sheila flipped her cell closed, and whistled. Stepping forward, she addressed the two sparring partners in Japanese, "Hideo, you and Mattie have a meeting with the Ambassador and your father at 9:30. Go shower, I'll arrange a dress for you, Hideo." As the two left, Sheila buttonholed Hermione and Sinistra, asking in English, "Which of you is better at transfiguration? I need a dress for Hideo."

------------------------

"I confess to nerves," Hideo said softly in Japanese as the stretch Lexus pulled into the parking lot, the police escort pulling off, flags flying the Rising Sun mounted on the bumpers. "I have said we must accept our collars, but now," she swallowed, "My father is very conservative." She stood straighter as two men approached, then bowed deeply, "Ambassador-san; Father."

------------------------

After the social niceties were over, Mr. Tanaka asked, "How were you captured?"

"I was driving back from campus, Father," Hideo recalled. "It was a foggy evening, and I drove through a patch of fog, thinking nothing of it. Within a few seconds, I had great difficulty moving my arms and legs, but could still see and think clearly. Later, in discussion with other..." she paused for a second, "...other slaves, they were taken in a similar way. I must assume that the capture gas works on males as it does on females, as it blocks voluntary muscle movement. I simply sat in the car, holding the steering wheel, as the car went off the road. I was unable to move, staring straight ahead, as two slaves wearing breathing gear approached the car, cut me out of my seat belt; and then my clothing. They then bound me and carried me to a small spacecraft. I was secured in a cargo net, and later collared and implanted as a slave."

Mr. Tanaka grunted, "That matches what we found. There were a few oddities, why the seat belts were cut instead of unlatched, and why your clothing was found, cut and folded neatly, on the seat of your car. Your purse and other property were untouched. We wondered who would dare kidnap you. Now we know."

"Hai, father," Hideo said softly. She swallowed, but said with a stone face, "I must offer penance for being taken alive, and the dishonor of being enslaved. May I offer two fingers?"

Her father raised a hand, "_Daimyo_ Wayne, do you have a sample of this gas?"

"I believe my ship has the data, or can acquire it, Tanaka-san," Mattie replied politely, adding, "Daimyo?"

"Hai," the Ambassador said. He slid a pair of scrolls, tied with ribbons across the table, as Mattie moved her teacup aside. "You have said you will create a Solar Guard, in defense of this planet and its people. The Emperor has decided this is worthy of a shogun, the first since 1869 and the Meiji Restoration. You are authorized light purple robes, as your shogunate grows, rank will of course increase."

"Hai," Mattie replied. "I will attempt to bring honor to this shogunate, and be worthy of the Emperor's trust."

"We have no doubt of this," the Ambassador replied, asking, "Are you willing to accept persons in service under the codes of _Bushido_?"

"What would that entail?" she asked.

"The modern bushido code of the samurai stresses the twelve virtues," the ambassador replied. "They are rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, loyalty, frugality, filial piety, wisdom, care for the aged, the mastery of martial arts, and honor to the death."

She nodded, "I have tried to live my life by that code. I accept."

Mr. Tanaka addressed his daughter, "Daughter of my blood, will you accept service with Daimyo Wayne?"

Mattie raised a finger, "Excuse me." She turned to Hideo, "I release you from any legal, financial, or ethical obligations to me. I consider you a free person, able to make your own decisions."

The ambassador nodded, as Hideo said, "I willingly do so, father."

"The matter is concluded, then," Mr. Tanaka said. "You have my gratitude, Daimyo, for the restoration of my daughter to me. I am in your debt."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 22, 2001:  
Manhattan, GNN studios: 19:49 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Mary breezed into the makeup room, plopping herself down next to Mattie, who turned her head. The makeup tech tutted, turning her face back to him, as Mary Knight chuckled. "People tell me this is the worst part of the experience," she advised.

"I can't believe you've done this to Luthor," she replied, asking, "The disk with the pictures – did it load all right?"

Both Mary and the makeup tech replied, "Yes," Mary continuing with a chuckle, "Yes, and the cutline was 'Teela Morton'. We've also got a live shot of the moon, although why you asked for that, I don't know. Anything else?"

"My cell phone work in here?"

"Five bars," the makeup tech said, adding, "There's a cell tower down the street."

"At some point in the show, I'll be making a cell call."

"We can provide you with a land line," Mary offered.

Mattie shook her head, "Sorry, it's a very private number."

------------------------

The producer counted down, then pointed to Mary, who said, "Good evening, and welcome to 'Knight at Night', we're fortunate to have with us Miss Mattie Wayne, the CEO of Arrowhead Investments, and now it seems the head of the Solar Guard." Mary turned, "Initially, we had planned for this to be on the lunar colonization you've been promoting; now we've got an additional topic. Ms. Wayne, we'll have a few questions, and then we'll go to open phones. Since this is a worldwide topic of interest, our viewers should be seeing a toll-free number for their location. Callers, please remember to give your location and to keep it clean."

Mary turned, asking, "Why lunar colonization? What's wrong with Earth?"

"Not necessarily what's wrong with Earth, but what's wrong with us, Mary," she replied. "We first landed on the moon in 1969, and we seem to have lost interest in escaping our cradle and seeing what's out there. Even though we've got people like Superman living here among us, people seem to be willfully ignorant of other life, and what they might have to offer us, and what we can offer." She grinned, "Well, for reasons of my own, I'm going to drag us, kicking and screaming, into the wider galaxy."

"And those reasons are?"

"Mostly going to remain mine for now," Mattie replied with a grin. "Countries are already realizing the technological benefits. I think most people have seen the video of my being lifted on an antigravity plate from a few weeks ago. If nothing else, that has benefits in transportation. Canada has made enormous strides in fusion power, and we're negotiating with Japan and Tanaka Heavy Industries for electronics and manufacturing." She leaned forward, "Building our own starships, we won't have to buy them; we can design and build them ourselves."

"We don't have the technical base," Mary objected.

"We're getting there," she replied. "That's why we're reverse engineering galactic tech. We're about to test fly our first cargo ship out of Babice airfield in Warsaw."

Mattie saw the producer make a squeezing gesture, and Mary cut in, "So when can we expect passenger service?"

"To orbit?" she grinned. "First we have to build the infrastructure. Our first step is to build the cargo and passenger platform in low earth orbit. Once we have that in place, we can then move on to the moon and higher orbits. That doesn't mean that it will be a luxury hotel, or that we'll be ignoring Earth."

"Well, that's a relief," Mary said.

"We can't ignore Earth, Mary. Just for one example, everyone going up will need a skinsuit, which would be fitted on earth. Each one costs about 50,000 dollars, but I hope to lower that cost through licensing. After all, how much is your life worth?" She grinned, adding, "Now, while some things like skinsuits are a stable galactic technology, with the last major innovations being about twelve hundred years ago, there's no reason why we can't figure out how to improve them." She raised a wrist, "Each suit's wrist records and transmits medical and blood data, which has applications in the medical field. Since it also records DNA, it can be used for signing documents, which is how it's done off planet." She tapped a legal pad, "We finally have the paperless office and court system."

"It sounds like you're advocating a move to galactic technology," Mary asked.

"I think it can be integrated into our systems, although they do generally have things like world governments and citizen databases," she grinned, adding, "I'm sure the civil libertarian people will object to that, although it would solve problems of identity theft."

"So how does this reverse engineering work?"

"Let's take the antigravity plates as an example," she replied. "It's a double-blind system. A British team developed the engineering specifications from the original alien tech. They handed off to a Mexican team, who wrote another design specification without knowing about the original spec, and then it went out to two bidders, a Swiss and Cuban team. They worked to meet the Mexican spec; the Swiss developed a working plate, the Cubans vastly improved on it. They've just patented a method to build it into a flexible mat, so it could be laid under a hotel room's carpet."

"Oh, my feet are thanking them already," Mary said with a grin, and her guest grinned. "That's not all you've been doing, though."

"I'd like to point out the contributions of our vehicle design group in Warsaw," she said. "Antigravity plates and skinsuits aren't much use until we can get out there into space, and more importantly, make it profitable." Mattie turned in her seat, "The biggest problem has always been getting up that gravity well to orbit."

"Gravity well?" Mary asked.

Mattie nodded, "It's a good metaphor. We're at the bottom of a well, looking up at the sky hundreds of miles above us. Before, the only real way to get a cargo of a couple hundred tons up that well and into orbit was to blast it off with a rocket or with the Shuttle, at the cost of ten thousand dollars a kilo. That's driven costs much higher than they need to be. For instance, satellite phones use a low earth orbit, it has to be a low orbit so you don't have unacceptable signal delay." Mary nodded, as she gestured with her hands, "The problem is that a low orbit degrades over time, the objects fall out of the sky due to drag, so you have to keep boosting them up. Think of a car going along, you have to hit the gas every so often to keep your speed up. You eventually have to fill the car's gas tank; the only problem is that there are no gas stations in orbit for satellites."

"What happens?"

"You don't want a two hundred million dollar satellite falling out of orbit, so when the gas gauge gets to a quarter tank, you boost the satellite into a much higher 'junk' orbit. Right now, there's no way to refill that satellite's gas tank, so it's the same situation as buying a Porsche, and parking it by the side of the road when the gas tank is empty, and then buying a new Porsche with a full tank. You can try to make some of that money back by selling rides in a Porsche, but you're still taking a substantial financial hit." Mattie leaned forward, "Until now."

"Now, what happens?"

"Simple, if you have a new satellite, you can contract for us to place it in orbit, and to service it. Every car owner in the world has to get their oil changed and their car worked on every so often, there's no reason why we can't do it with satellites. Not only are our launch costs much lower at fifty dollars a kilo, we don't charge you seventy five million for a single use rocket, we're a manned craft so if there's a problem you don't lose your cargo, and you can use a much larger, more capable satellite. That means lower insurance rates, if nothing else. Then there are all those hundreds of junked satellites. They can be retrieved for refurbishment, sold, or refueled and reused. That also lowers a company's cost, and what the consumers pay for phone and TV service. Once a cargo is in low orbit, it's much less expensive to move them to other places in cislunar space."

"What is cislunar space, and what about people?"

"Cislunar space is space in and around the Earth – Moon system. That's higher Earth orbits, orbits around the Moon, and operations on the lunar surface. That's our first step out of the crib, the next step is moving out to the asteroids and the outer planets. Let me give you another way to pay for space operations: solar energy, specifically solar power satellites."

"NASA did a study about that in the early 1960's, they concluded it wasn't economical."

"You've done some homework!" Mattie grinned. "Let me give you a bit of information about that study, Mary. It operated off one major assumption, that we would be boosting all the materials up that gravity well, and it was published just before the Kennedy Assassination. Now, that was reasonable then. However, we have a different source of materials in the moon, the technology has changed dramatically since 1963, and the cost of going up that gravity well is half a percent of what it was. It is much cheaper to move materials from the moon to high earth orbit, and industrial robots can do ninety-nine percent of the work. There's a more detailed study on Arrowhead's web site, with different costs calculated, but a solar array one hundred kilometers on a side, about the only thing that we'd have to boost up would be the control electronics. On the earth side, the receiving antenna is a circle seven kilometers across, and that's a simple network of wires on poles. An inverter converts DC power to AC; it's fed into the power grid."

"What about radiation?"

"All the bad radiation is in orbit, what we're sending down is focused sunlight." She grinned, "You might get sunburn, but I can't control that. It's like mowing your lawn on a hot day; you wear a hat and sunscreen. Cuba has a greenhouse and some goats under the grid, and there's a bunch of UN environmental monitors in the central inverter building." She interlaced her fingers, "As I said, all this information is on Arrowhead's web server, and we're listed on the Berlin, London, and Moscow stock exchanges. For now, we need to build infrastructure on the moon, so I'm pleased to announce the start of test flights of our first cargo ship from Warsaw. We were able to save some money by buying seats and whatnot from old airplanes." She shrugged, "We wanted to get the mass right, so the seats aren't exactly comfortable. Still, you wouldn't be in them long, and regular service would be from Ecuador."

"Why not launch from Florida?"

"Aside from the little ... disagreement with Mr. Luthor, Ecuador is at a higher elevation, with a lovely mountain that sits on the Equator. That lets us take advantage of Earth's rotation to save launch costs and lift higher mass loads. When we looked at locations, the choices came down to Kenya or Ecuador; Kenya doesn't have the road or rails, they're in the middle of a nasty civil war, as well as some major problems with disease and corruption. Ecuador already had the roads and rail links; they just needed updating, as well as expansion of their port facilities. It's a stable country, with a friendly government, and is handling our diplomatic relations. In return, they've got British port engineers and Russian railroad engineers, and for protection, we've got German military advisers with the Ecuadorian military." She gestured with her hands, "One of our concerns is terrorism, especially with the NBC shipments."

"I hadn't heard of those," Mary replied, Mattie frowned, "I shouldn't have said anything. Sorry."

"One of your secrets," Mary said, adding, "NBC usually refers to nuclear, biological, and chemical. What's Arrowhead doing with it, becoming a nuclear power?"

"Hardly," her guest said with a snort. "No, we're fulfilling all the environmentalist's fondest hopes, and moving the thousands of tons of waste off Earth to the moon. Since the moon's a dead world, I don't think they'll object." She snorted again, "My cynical side says that they probably will find something to complain about, though."

Mary saw the producer's signal, and said, "You asked for a live video feed of the moon's surface. We'll find out why after these messages from our sponsors." The camera lights went dark, and she asked, "Is that a skinsuit? Why the jumpsuit on top?"

Mattie shrugged, placing the old prop microphone back on the table. "The skinsuit's like a woolen leotard, there aren't any pockets, and I'm not going to schlep around a purse. The skinsuit handles all the biological functions, and it's good to around four hundred degrees below zero, and handles most radiation. I wouldn't stand in the middle of a reactor, but for orbit, it's fine." She held out a grey-clad arm, "Besides, it looks good with the black skinsuit." She yawned, "I thought this would be like the late show, though. I could really use some coffee, all I've had recently is some tea at a business meeting." She sighed, "So far, this hasn't been that bad."

"Wait for some of the callers," Mary advised, taking the signal from the producer. She smiled at the camera as he counted down, "We're back live with Ms. Mattie Wayne, of Arrowhead Investments, talking about lunar colonization." She turned slightly, "Ms. Wayne, you asked for us to have a live shot of the moon. Now, I have no idea what you wanted that for, but people should be seeing it on their screens. If you're listening on radio, you might want to look at the moon."

------------------------

The Mortons watched the show. Mattie had called from New York, asking them to watch. The studio shrunk to a small picture as an image of the new moon filled the screen. In a few seconds, a red dot appeared on it. Mattie's voice came across as a voice over, "What you're seeing is a large spotlight sitting at the moon's equator and the prime meridian, zero degrees latitude and longitude. You can see for yourself this isn't Hollywood fakery with your own eyes, by simply looking at the moon."

"That's what that was!" Teela said as Mattie's voice asked, "Can I have the first picture?"

"Those are my pictures!" Teela squeaked.

"Let me give a quick synopsis of each picture," the voiceover continued. "By the way, these were taken by a friend of mine with a consumer digital camera a few weeks ago. NASA had to retrofit Hasselblad film cameras, which I believe are still on the moon. Anyway, this first picture is of the light, my brothers are standing next to it for scale. You can see the inflatable communication mast; the other equipment transmits to this location for telemetry to earth. This array is powered by a German-designed and built pebble bed reactor." She grinned, "That's running off recycled nuclear fuel. Next photo, please."

------------------------

"Next caller, Seattle," Mary said.

"How do we know this isn't a fake, like the moon landings?"

Mattie sighed, "Have you looked at the moon in the last few hours, caller? Did you see the photos of Tranquility?"

"It's raining, and the pictures weren't that good. You could have faked them!"

"Caller, I can't control the rain. When it stops, go look for yourself. Regarding the pictures, Tranquility Base is a UN-designated historic site; we're not supposed to go closer than half a kilometer. That's about a quarter mile for the Americans listening." She shifted, "Besides, caller, in order to fake the Apollo program, which was about the same size as the Manhattan project, you would have had to get thousands of workers all across the country to keep the secret for the last forty years. That's not going to happen," she said as the caller hung up. She asked, "Next caller?"

"I was looking at your web site, it's really slow."

"I would think its being hit by a lot of people, but I'll talk to British Telecom. Did you have a question, caller, and what's your location?"

"Um, I'm in the US, and why don't you use Windows on your spaceships? It's the greatest!"

"I prefer software that works, caller, like Linux," she said dryly as she disconnected.

"A little bit of bias?" Mary asked.

"Simple truth, and a business decision," she replied. "I've grown up with UNIX systems and Macs, why pay outrageous prices for licensing when I don't have to?" She touched the phone button, "Hello, caller, what's your location?"

"That was rather cold, Miss Wayne," a familiar voice said.

She grinned, "One of my favorite professors! How is Scotland, sir?"

"Damp. I presume you will be here tomorrow?"

"We're planning on a redeye flight with the others. They're in town now, we are live worldwide, sir, please be careful what you say."

"I always am. I shall inform the Headmistress," the cultured voice said as he disconnected. Mary looked over at her guest, who shrugged. "I missed a lot of school last year, so I've been trying to go to summer school. Unfortunately, the last few weeks has prevented that. I hope I won't have to repeat this past year, I did some studying on the flight." She shrugged again, "We'll see how my exams go." Mary touched the phone, "Mexico City, what's your question?"

"You did not say anything about us!"

"I apologize," Mattie said. "We are especially grateful for the contributions of the Mexican chemical and petroleum industries. They've been reverse-engineering fuels, and as you know, one way to spur trade is with petrol. While this may put the tiniest of dents in the world oil trade, I don't think Pemex will mind having the information. Next caller?"

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 23, 2001:  
London, Heathrow airport, international arrivals: 01:50 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"There she is!" someone called, and the horde of newsies pressed up against the security glass, some already shouting questions. The other people in queue at Queen's Customs looked about curiously as Tomas wrapped a protective arm around his sister.

"Who's this Wayne they're shouting about?" one mother asked, trying to restrain her son.

"That would be my sister, senora," Tomas replied with a frosty glare. "The same one whose seat your son kicked for the entire seven hours of the flight, and the same one who has gotten very little sleep over the past two weeks." He glared at the hyperactive kid, adding, "The same flight that you slept through."

"My little Tommy? Don't be absurd, he's perfectly well behaved. Besides, someone would have said something."

"That would have been your responsibility as a parent, senora, and I _did_ say something to young Tomas. I asked him very politely to stop kicking my sister's seat, and his reply was, 'Make me!' Your son needs discipline senora. Perhaps he should be in a military camp?" Someone else muttered, "Too right!"

Her reply was cut off by the customs bloke calling, "Next!" Mattie woke up enough to hand her passport over, placing her bag on the scanner. The customs bloke stiffened at his screen, then offered, "Miss Wayne, would you like me to call airport security, with all those newsies waiting to have at' ye?"

"That would be greatly appreciated, senor," Tomas said, offering his passport, "My sister is very tired, she has gotten very little sleep over the last two weeks."

"I do watch the telly, mate," the customs bloke said with a grin as he lifted his phone. "Security, this is Nigel at customs six. We have a great lot of newsies about to break down the barrier. No, mate, they're lying in wait for Miss Wayne, who's coming through my gate, and she doesn't need that. Can we get an escort for her and her party? Bloody right," he put a hand over the phone, "Arrowhead still hiring?" Mattie nodded, and he told the phone, "Too right they are. We'll show proper British hospitality. Thanks, mate, I'll buy you one at the pub." He replaced his phone, "Two minutes, Miss Wayne. Sorry about the delay."

She smiled at him as Tomas said, "Thank you very much, senor. Can you tell us where the airport's railway station is? Our hotel is near the Charing Cross station."

"Tube's not running now, mate. We'll whistle you up a black cab, though." Nigel handed back their passports and motioned them through as a dozen airport police came trotting in, shoving the newsies back. Another half-dozen showed up to reinforce them, more forming up beyond the barricade as an escort.

As they moved ahead, Tommy's mother asked, "Who was that?" The businessman behind her snorted as Nigel replied, "Don't you watch the news, ma'am? That was Miss Wayne, with the starships. She's colonizing the moon w' her pocket money. She doesn't look a billionaire, but who does? Passports please, and have you anything to declare?"

------------------------

"Miss Wayne!" "Miss Wayne, can you..." "Miss Wayne, what's the..." "Miss Wayne, are you the new lesbian dark queen that..."

"Wait a minute," Mattie said, stopping in shock. Clearly surprised, she turned to ask, "WHAT did you ask?"

The newsie swallowed, never expecting her to stop and reply to him, "The _Sun_ wants to know if you're our new evil lesbian dark queen, ruling from your lunar palace with thousands of sex slaves." He cleared his throat, adding, "Ma'am."

Some of the airport police groaned, as Mattie blinked, "I'm sorry, I'm very tired. Let me say that I don't care if you're lesbian, gay or were born on a different planet; my only concern is if you can do the job. Regarding my personal life, I have a boyfriend, and that's all you're going to get." Tomas put his arm on her shoulder as she continued, "Secondly, I have no intention of being a queen, evil or otherwise, and regarding slaves, I believe that was adequately covered by Judge Greenbriar at the hospital press conference. Lastly, I am _recycling_ nuclear materials on the moon, for use in peaceful nuclear reactors there. I would think you would be happy to see all that high-level waste off Earth. I certainly have no need for weapons to threaten Earth, and I'm more concerned with hostile aliens. Now, if you'll excuse me, my hotel bed awaits." She turned and walked off as the shouting began again.

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 23, 2001:  
London, _**The Leaky Cauldron**_, dining room: 06:57 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Mattie descended the creaking old wooden stairs from her room, pausing to yawn and wave to Anne, who had come in from London with her sister Karen. She turned as Albus Dumbledore said, "Good morning, Miss Wayne. Would you care for a spot of breakfast, and perhaps a nice cuppa?"

She stifled a yawn, "That would be wonderful, Professor. Thank you." She joined the others at the table, the other Yanks in town to buy their school supplies and be fitted for robes and uniforms. She grinned at Bill's expression as Arthur leaned over to explain Albus Dumbledore.

"Miss Wayne," the chill tones of the Potion Master spread across the room. "I thought I would find you here. As you have decided to scorn my attempts to tutor you in Potions, you are no longer welcome. Miss Bundy is on notice, her missing more tutoring sessions will result in her banishment as well. However, I will expect both of you for your examination in my classroom on Wednesday, August twenty-second at eight sharp. Good day."

As he turned and moved off, Miss Wayne's voice carried across the room, "Mr. Snape."

"Professor Snape," he corrected. "I am present in relation to your schooling, Miss Wayne."

As he turned and moved off, Miss Wayne's voice carried across the room, "Very well. Professor Snape, are you perhaps unaware that I was imprisoned in a muggle facility? That I was in a muggle hospital with a broken leg? That I was off-planet? Those would prevent me from attending your tutoring sessions." The conversations in the Cauldron died away as the assorted witches and wizards listened in, her voice carrying clearly across the room.

"Miss Wayne, the need to maintain some separation between your life in the muggle world and your magical education here might excuse your first week of absence. However, we both know that you could have left that prison at any time during your incarceration if you so desired." He continued, still not facing her, "Given your background and the legal requirements of naval law, any who know you would expect you to have investigated the vessel in distress, although that task could have been delegated to someone besides yourself. The subsequent decision to attack the asteroid once its discovery had been made follows logically to those with even a casual knowledge of your character."

He continued without turning around, "However, neither the nobility nor necessity of your actions excuses your failure to appear for last Wednesday's lessons. The assault on the asteroid was over on Tuesday. Whilst perhaps not capable of bringing all the aliens and ships with you, you, at least, could have returned with Miss Bundy. Instead, you dawdled with the fleet so you could make a dramatic entrance Friday. That is not acceptable, Miss Wayne."

"Professor Snape, you expect me to walk out of a muggle prison, in violation of the law and against the advice of my attorney? You expect me to abandon my post and my responsibilities as a ship's captain?" She drew a breath, adding, "As you know if you watched the press conference from the hospital, there was no one else available to aid the _F'na'd_. You expect me to let thirty-seven people suffocate when I was able to aid them? You expect me to ignore an illegal pirate operation, and another sixty persons, including humans, in a condition of illegal slavery, when I can aid them? All to attend a potions lecture?" She let the silence stretch, then added, "I wish you a pleasant day, sir, and I will see you on the twenty-second."

"In order: No, Yes, No, No, and the two were not mutually exclusive." Snape spun, walking to the entrance to Diagon Alley as the room broke out in chatter.

------------------------

"Snape's being a right arse today," Karen commented. She took a long look at Mattie, then said, "Right. This is your fourth year, you've the Halloween ball. You will go get your robes fitted, and your dress picked out, then straight back to bed with you, young lady. Your mates will handle everything else. Where are you staying?"

"I've been staying at my aunt's townhouse in Soho," she replied.

"You're not facing that horde of newsies outside in the shape you're in," Karen said emphatically, and the others nodded. "Go back upstairs to your room, I'll come by tonight after my university class. If I don't hear snoring, I'll thump you, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mattie replied, "What about my exam?"

"Whilst I was never great shakes with a cauldron, I've still got my third-year notes. Don't worry about it for now." She sat back as Albus came by with some porridge, he added, "I've my notes from my third year as well, Miss Wayne. While they may not be as recent as Miss Bundy's, I was a bit of a dab hand with a cauldron. We'll arrange something, and have the bills for your supplies sent to Gringotts. I'm certain Mr. Griplink won't mind." He looked at her over his spectacles, "Eat up, now."

------------------------

"Good morning, Severus," Remus said outside Zabini's Apothecary. "Might I walk with you?" The potion master grunted, his long legs covering ground. After a few minutes, the history professor ventured, "I overheard your little ... discussion ... with Miss Wayne."

"Everyone in the Cauldron overheard that 'little discussion'," Severus replied. "She has quite the command voice when she is inclined to use it."

"I'm not sure if you were too rough on her or not." Mattie's icy voice had come as a surprise to the werewolf.

"I was not," Severus said firmly. "Miss Wayne, while possessed of several admirable qualities, must learn to delegate and prioritize. They are necessary skills for someone who means to reshape the world." They strolled in silence until Snape added, "Given her family, both genetic and extended, there are times the poor girl forgets that she's only human."

------------------------

Connie, Julie and the Cortez twins marched Mattie into Parvati's clothing shop, the boys ordered to 'Get her other stuff!' The figure on the measuring stand turned, squealing, "Mattie!" then saying 'Ow!' as a pin stuck her outstretched arm.

"That will teach you," Lavender told Sprink. "Stand still." She turned, "Good morning, ladies. New robes?"

"Uniforms and dresses for the Halloween ball, too," one of the twins said, steering Mattie to a chair, who mumbled, "Light purple," as she dozed.

"Purple? Not her colour at all," Lavender said, asking, "When's her birthday?"

"May thirty-first, she's definitely a 'Spring', Julie said, "Maybe as an accent color, though?"

------------------------

Ginny Potter lead the group of muggle firsties and their parents through the arch into Diagon Alley as Arthur and Bill went inside Parv's. They stopped as Mattie came out with Sprink, saying, "Hello, Mrs. Potter."

"Good morning, Miss Wayne, Miss Tonks," Ginny replied in an icy voice as the two girls joined Charlie and Tomas sitting on a bench. Tomas passed Mattie a cup of take-away tea as one of the new students suddenly gasped, asking, "D'you know who that is?"

"Who, Miss Wayne?" Ginny asked in a more natural voice. "She's a fourth-year Slytherin, and that's her brother Tomas, who's a Ravenclaw. As I said, there are four houses, you can tell by the crest on the robes and the colours of the school tie, hers are green and silver. When you get your school tie, it will initially be black, when you're sorted, it will change to your house colours." She gestured at the shop, "This is one of three clothing shops, you'll need to get measured for your school uniforms and robes. Ahead on the right, Quality Quidditch is one of the more popular shops. I'm coaching the Gryffindor team, my husband Harry is the referee for the school games. Come along now, lots to see..."

"But she's famous..." one kid said.

"You'll see several famous people at Hogwarts," Ginny replied with a slight frown. "You must remember to keep the secret, and treat them like anyone else. Come along now..."

As the group moved off, one kid broke off, shyly approaching Mattie and asking, "Miss Wayne, can I... um, canIhaveyourautograph?"

Sprink howled in laughter, which rattled the poor kid, but he stayed where he was as Mattie looked up, "You want my autograph? Why? I'm nobody special."

The kid blinked as Charlie told him, "Mate, she means it." He nudged Mattie, "G'wan, give the kid an autograph. A quid says he's a Gryffindor."

"No bet," Sprink said, passing over a cheap muggle pen as Mattie set down her tea. Taking the shyly offered flyer, and propping it on a book, asked, "What's your name?"

"Warren, Warren Driver," the kid replied with a nervous swallow.

"Well, Warren Warren Driver, you've got my first autograph," she told him as she circled the pen to start it, then writing, '_To Warren Driver, my first autograph, 23 July, 2001, Diagon Alley, London. Mattie Wayne_'. Passing the flyer back, she said, "That and five pence will get you a cup of tea. Good luck in Hogwarts, Warren Warren."

'_Was I ever that young?_' Mattie thought as she watched him scurry back to his group. "Look Anna, I got her autograph!" he excitedly told a girl with long dark hair. "Oh Warren, you can be so common sometimes," she said as she took his hand and they ran to catch up.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, July 24, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead offices, fifth floor conference room: 07:02 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Mattie yawned, holding a cup of coffee as she looked down at the gaggle of newsies outside their offices. Arrowhead had expanded to take up almost all six floors of the building; the only independent business left was a tea room on the ground floor that had been there since the early 1920's. The eight Americans had stayed the night in the Cauldron while Alfred and his troops remained in New York, the Brits dispersing to their homes.

"Miss Wayne?" Mattie turned to see a platinum blonde standing nervously next to her, "Did you really mean... like, I know people think I'm this blonde goth airhead biker chick with a um, thing for tight leather, but what you told the newsie at the airport, about, um, lesbians and how..."

Karen Bundy approached her, "Ash, not now..." but Mattie raised a hand, "I meant what I said. I don't care what your plumbing is, or if you're with someone with the same equipment. As long as you're legal, and you can do the job, that's my only concern. Why, did you have a problem?"

"Um, no, but my roomie, she's like, really desperate for a job, and she's got, like slightly different plumbing, but she can't afford surgery, and..." Ash ran down, "Can she come and, y'know, work here? I really need the help, and she's this really awesome programmer..."

Karen shrugged. "We need the help. Have her come by for an interview, but I don't know anything about programming."

"Get together with Anne, she's been doing some programming, and she's been thinking about distributing some sort of game," Mattie suggested. "They can talk code; the rest is up to your roomie. Was there anything else?" she asked.

Ash shook her head as Mattie took her seat, Mr. MacAdam gaveled the meeting to order. "I know you're tired, lassie," he said, "We'll keep this brief, but you've been out of touch for a few weeks. Ms. Nicheyev?"

"Um, two things," Ash said, looking at her legal pad. "We've gotten slashdotted, and..."

"Slashdotted?"

"Um, when a web site gets sudden really high demand, it's known as being slashdotted. We've gotten about five million hits a day, up from a few thousand. It's really straining our network connection, and I think it's going to stay high. We're also being attacked, denial of service. I'd like to increase our bandwidth, and put some more elaborate defenses in place. I've got some estimates from British Telecom, but in order to do the job, I'll have to buy more hardware." Mattie nodded, "Secondly, I saw that thing on the implants, and if we're going to have any of those people working with us, we'll have to change our access." She nodded at the head of security, a former Royal Marine, "I talked to Mr. Thompson, it looks like a RFID implant in their hips, like the access cards we use now." She played with hers on the lanyard as she continued, "The budget splits out pretty evenly between his sensors and locks and my buying another server and the software for it, but we need a few of them to figure out the coding. Do the um, collars have anything like that?"

"Pain circuits and the lights, which show the slave's legal status," Mattie replied, "It's powered from the body's bio-electric field, and it ties into the central nervous system through the spinal cord. I don't think it would apply to this. There's a control chip that the owners have, but I don't know anything about how it works."

"Oh, they're kinda pretty, I was wondering..." Ash mumbled, "I've worked up some proposals, and that's all I have," she said, as she passed down a report.

"Miss Bundy?" Sev MacAdam cleared his throat, clarifying, "Miss Karen Bundy, I meant."

"We've gotten a good hundred thousand downloads of our employment applications, and about ten thousand have been emailed back to us," she said. "I've talked to the vehicle group in Warsaw; they're shipping some scale models of the different ships and whatnot, like the generator truck."

"Generator truck?"

"It's a commercial generator mounted on a lunar truck, which burns biodiesel fuel and oxygen from tanks, the exhaust goes into another tank for recycling," she replied. "They said they didn't really need them now, and we've got our first big job fair coming up next weekend." She glanced at Mattie, before adding, "Anyone that can, please come by, we're going to be using the new Cuban antigravity mat under the carpet, so people can experience one-sixth gravity." She smiled, "It makes things more real. Let me know if you need more business cards, and I'll set up the models in here when we receive them."

"Thank you, Miss Bundy. Miss Anne?"

"I hath little to report but a dozen of the slaves doth wish to work with us," she said. "They are staying in New York until their status is decided, they will then return with Alfred." She yawned, "Pardon me, I am fatigued. I shall be pleased to meet with thy mate, Miss Ash." She yawned again.

"Mr. Thompson?"

The burly man nodded, "Aye, we have had a few attempted break-ins, I've talked to the Yard, and..."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, July 24, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 08:21 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, good morning, ladies!" Professor Flitwick told Anne and Mattie. "Miss Bundy, you mentioned yesterday that you had difficulties with your magic on the flight?"

"Aye," she said. "'Twas able to do some on the moon, and a wee bit on the asteroid, but in space, I 'twas a squib. Doth you know why?"

"I did a quick shufty in the library, I did not find anything, but then again, I think you two might have been the first witches that have ever gone off planet," he replied. "Miss Wayne?"

"I had the same problem, as did Professor Sinestra and Hermione," she said. "By the way, both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were in space before we were."

"Really? They hadn't mentioned that," he said, surprised. "I know there's a way to store magical energy, one does that with various pendants. However, that is usually only good for one spell." He rubbed his chin, musing, "How to store a greater amount, and how to test it? Hmm." He was lost in thought, until Anne cleared her throat. "Right, on to business." He ran his finger down a list of spells, then saying, "Let's touch on the freezing charm, that's the last one we covered before your absence, Miss Wayne. After that, the cooling charm, and after lunch, the warming and heating charms." He hopped down from his stack of books, "Wands out, please."

------------------------**_  
Heaven, library reading room  
_**------------------------

Peter spied his quarry in one of the smaller reading rooms, and smiled gently. Bruce had spent quite a bit of time in here (such as it was measured in the afterlife), he wondered what so obsessed him. Moving as silently as possible, he crept up behind, only to have Bruce grunt, "Stop trying to sneak around, you're no good at it."

"Well, then tell me what you're so interested in," Peter said, pulling up a chair and conjuring a goblet.

Bruce glowered at him, then said, "I'm researching my family's timelines, so I can direct them into the best ones."

"Best for them, or for humanity?" Bruce grunted again, and Peter continued, "Bruce, I understand the desire to help the ones left behind. I had it myself, I didn't shake it until, oh, the fourth generation or so, when I was long dead and barely remembered." He took a sip, "There are several 'dynasties' of souls, if you will. You're in one of them, did you take a look at your previous incarnations?"

"No time for that."

"Bruce, think about what you just said. You're in Heaven, you've got all eternity. You've got the time," Peter said with a chuckle. "By the way, there's a lovely young couple that's about to conceive..."

"Mattie's too young, is it Dick and Barbara?" Peter shook his head, and Bruce said, "Not interested."

"Well, this I think you will be interested in. Come along now, this won't repeat." Reluctantly, Bruce stood, following Peter down another white corridor to a white elevator door, which opened for them. Peter eyed Bruce, "I get tired of all the white, too. Go see Mohammad, he knows how to dress. In any case, when you came here, it was pretty much predestined. Others are judged, we trade off every millennium or so. In any case, the other guy's back on the job after a short holiday, and about to hear a case you'll be interested in." The bell dinged, the doors slid open, and Peter said, "Welcome to Hell, Bruce."

------------------------

Bruce stepped out from the elevator into a cavern, lit by torches and fire, with voices screaming in the background. He looked around as a soul was dragged off by demons, the tall demon stood, his appearance rippling into a handsome, blue-eyed blond as he offered his hand. "Bruce! What a pleasure! I'm glad Peter brought you by, I think you'll be interested in this next case." He looked at Peter, "Next Saturday night for poker at the pub? I should be caught up by then." He gave Bruce's hand a final shake, his skin rippling back to his demon appearance as he resumed his seat. Peter pulled Bruce aside, reminding him, "Don't interfere, this is Luke's job."

A demon called, "Next case, general terrorism, kidnapping, torture, murder of the innocents, aiding and abetting one who pretended to demonic status ('Voldemort' Peter whispered.), practicing black magics without a license, violent racism, misogyny, fomenting and plotting the overthrow of the established order and," the demon smirked, "Bribery of public officials. Milord Lucifer, I present Lucille Malfoy."

------------------------

"Lucifer? You've abandoned your post!" Lucille said in shock as she was shoved in front of his throne.

"Hardly," Lucifer drawled. "I was on a short holiday in Key West. You try working for a few hundred years without a break." He accepted a scroll from a succubus with a ring on her tail, who smiled at Lucille, long forked tongue flicking over her razor-sharp teeth. He studied the scroll, shaking his head, then asked, "Well, Miss Malfoy, what have you to say for your life? There's not much good here."

Lucille drew herself up, "I did what I thought best for wizard kind. I have no apologies or regrets."

"Never let it be said I didn't give a chance," Lucifer said, calling, "Bruce, got anything to say for Miss Malfoy?"

Lucille turned, whispering "Wayne?" as Bruce stepped forward, "Be gentle, Mr. Lucifer."

She screamed at Bruce, "Be gentle? That's all you'll say for me?"

"You're lucky I said that much," he replied.

"Yes, well, since Mr. Nott ... where is he?" Lucifer asked. "Oh, there you are, Theodore. Your sentence is completed, please go up with Mr. Wayne and St. Peter when we finish, and Hell thanks you for your service." The young man's soul nodded.

Lucifer sat up in his throne, adding, "As I was saying, when Mr. Nott placed that gender change spell on you ('Marvelous bit of work that was,' Peter added to Bruce.), locking it to your soul. You didn't realize that all you needed to do was one kind gesture, and the spell would have been cancelled. You would have been male again, instead of the female form you wear, loathe and despise, yet take secret delight in." He waved the scroll, "It's all here, you see, all those times in the bath, washcloth between your teeth so Narcissa wouldn't hear. Now, I had a request for you that I think I'll grant. Lorelei, you can take her in a minute, I just have a minor modification."

With a wave of his hand, Lucille's school uniform vanished as she grew to become a beautiful woman, large, firm bosom, feet reshaping into a delicate pair of high stiletto heels. Her wings outstretched, a delicate tinge of blue to match her icy blue eyes, her white-blonde hair cascading down to her knees. A delicate tail protruded from the curtain of hair, and she shrieked, "What have you done to me?"

"I've made you a succubus, Lucille, and that is your name now." Lucifer gestured again, an iron collar with a red glowing gem appeared at her throat, and two holes appeared in her wrists. "Since you were so inordinately proud of your crucifixion wounds, I've made them permanent. My token on your lovely neck binds you to me; you will be unable to make a move against me." He glanced at Lorelei, "I'll let you have her for a thousand years, at that time your case will be reviewed." He rolled up the scroll, giving it to Lorelei as she escorted her new sister away.

------------------------

"Mr. Wayne, I... um..." Theodore Nott said as they rode up.

"You were coerced into joining them," Peter said. "Don't worry about it." The elevator stopped, Peter adding, "This is your stop, Bruce. I've got some things to do with Theodore, I'll see you later."

------------------------  
**_Friday, July 27, 2001:  
Warsaw, Babice airfield, Arrowhead hangers: 19:49 (GMT +1)  
_**------------------------

"You are satisfied, da?" Yvgeny asked the government flight inspector, motioning to the rows of numbered sandbags strapped into the old Aeroflot seats. "We have a good mix I think, 100 kilo bags for the men, 50 kilos for the women, and 25 kilos for the children."

"Fifty passengers," a grizzled old engineer added, waving to the passenger cabin. "Two live pilots, four female crew represented by more sandbags, full water tanks, food is combat rations and more sandbags for the proper mass." He gestured to the equipment bolted in place. "Instrumentation to detect the tiniest air problems, accelerometers for the 'G' forces connected to a wireless network."

"I am satisfied, let us go below," the Polish government man said, sealing the hatch behind him. As he descended the steps, he asked, "What are you calling this?"

"Officially, the CP – 01, but the unofficial name is the 'Gooney Bird', from the old airplane." Yvgeny replied.

"Da, I knew it well," the Pole said. He patted the fuselage ahead of the delta wings, "May this one be as reliable and trouble-free as the old Douglas birds. I do like the separate decks for passengers and crew. While it would be regrettable to lose passengers and crew to terrorism, better to keep the flight crew isolated."

"They have hidden cameras they can observe the passengers with," Yvgeny said, "They can trigger a sleeping gas, the oxygen masks will not work if it is triggered." He climbed up the ladder to the forward air lock, "Comrade, we have the cockpit, aft the engineering spaces and the cargo hold. Where do you wish to start?"

------------------------  
_**Saturday, July 28, 2390:  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, 'boneyard', **Cassidy Yates**: 10:36  
**_------------------------

Cassidy whistled tunelessly as she wiggled up behind the equipment rack, happy to get her hands back on her ship. Banging with her hammer in the confined space, she thought back to the screaming confrontation she'd had with her misguided... '_No, that's not honest,_' she scolded herself. '_They were doing what they thought was the best thing for me._' She resisted an impulse, the alien doc centuries ago and Alfred had done what they could to fix her mind, but she still retained some definite... urges. Urges that she kept to herself.

'_Not in a skinsuit!_' she told herself, as she managed to loosen the last bit of the ship's original alien tech. '_A couple hundred years or so sitting here, things are still tight_' she mused. Unscrewing the last wire harness, she carefully eased out, so as not to crack her helmet (pressurized repair bays cost money to rent!). Her parents, in a fit of guilt, had given her title to the _Yates_, and a budget to get him spaceworthy again. She would miss having Alfred aboard though, he had long since moved to Port Oldridge, which he ran as the port master. '_Another problem for me, what am I going to do for a crew? He's too big for me to handle by myself._' she thought.

Unscrewing the black box, and cursing the long-dead designers who had put control racks _everywhere_, instead of a primary and a backup location like humans did, she stacked it with the others in the cargo cart of her go-trike. She was just securing the cargo net over it when her brother called, "Hey, Cass, got a minute?"

"Sure," she said, hopping over to where Alan was talking with the government inspector. The rented generator truck rocked silently on its wheels in the vacuum. '_It needs to be rebalanced_,' Cassidy thought idly as she went by. "What's up?"

"Good news and bad news. The good news is the spaceframe passes inspection." She rocked slightly forward, the way you 'nodded' in a skinsuit (you couldn't always see their heads in the helmet), as he continued, "The bad news, some of the control circuits have degraded the wiring. You'll need to pull new cable and yank the old stuff out." His suit twisted slightly as he shrugged, "You rent a wiring spider for two weeks. It does let you consolidate all the electronics into one rack, though."

"Especially if you're keeping the auto-doc," the government inspector said. "It will free up space in your cabin, you can mount it in one of the vacant control bays. In any case, I'll post my inspection reports to your ship's file on the Net. Give me a call when you're ready for me to come back."

Cassidy 'nodded' again, "I'll do that. I'll reserve a spider for next day time, when I take the old equipment to Greywolf's salvage agent. Did you need to do anything else aboard?"

The inspector's suit twisted as he said, "No, I'm done for now." He touched his suit sleeve, "Four hours to night time. Are you getting your Guild exams then?"

"Studying for them," she replied. "Anything else, Alan?" she asked her brother.

"Go ahead and start," he said, motioning to the distant crater walls, "I'll close up the ship and see you at home. Thank you, Mr. Sanchez."

------------------------


	8. 29 July – 4 August, 2001

------------------------  
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.  
------------------------  
8: 29 July – 4 August, 2001  
------------------------  
**_Sunday, July 29, 2390:  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Public library reading room: 10:39  
_**------------------------

Cassidy looked up at the knock on the door to the private reading room. A red-skinned Korugarian slave girl stood there, clutching a stack of book cards and a tablet to her breast. With a smile, Cassidy waved her in.

"May I join you, Mistress? The other rooms are full."

"Start of night time? Not surprising, and I'm Cassidy, not 'Mistress'," she replied as the slave set down her tablet computer. "I didn't know there were slaves here. I thought it was illegal in this system."

Neatly arranging the library's data cards on the table, the girl smoothed her white smock as she sat down, "Most of them are boarded by the Portmaster's office while their owners conduct business. They do things like work in the office, load and unload ships, but I'm a special case." She smiled briefly, "I was chained outside the docking slip, abandoned here with a tube of Spice tied to my neck while my master escaped, so I'm in a legal ... what do you call it?"

Cassidy snorted, "A legal mess, I'd call it, and you speak our language well. Why did your master abandon you?"

"Thank you, Mistress. From what the Portmaster says, he was to be arrested for possession and sale of Spice. Since he would have been spaced," she shrugged, the alternating green and yellow lights of a judicial enslavement on her collar. "I have to assume he thought it better to abandon me with a bit of Spice, he could then blame it all on me, and I'd be the one spaced."

"Except you haven't been," Cassidy observed, resting her chin on her intertwined fingers. "Why not?"

The girl shrugged, her reddish skin contrasting with the white linen smock, "From what I understand, the captain is responsible for his crew's actions, so he's liable for both the damage to the dock when he escaped and the Spice tied to my neck." She pulled her seat closer to the table, and then fluffed her short dark collar length hair, "He chained me in the access tube, thinking I'd be killed when he pulled away and the tube decompressed. He didn't know about a pressure seal. The healer took my statement under a truth drug, and the Portmaster's office filed charges with the sector court."

She looked at the battered old table, rearranging the book cards in their colorful sleeves on them, "The Portmaster filed a claim on me as abandoned property, my former master still has eight months to return and claim me." She looked at Cassidy, her eyes bright, "I don't think he will. It would mean spacing for him, a slave isn't worth that. So while I wait for him to return and claim me, I work for the Portmaster's office, and my earnings go into an escrow account. The Portmaster suggested that I use them for my Guild examinations, since I'm not billed while I'm living in slave quarters." She grinned, "My Master is."

Cassidy looked at her, "Then what happens after eight months? Are you free? Why were you enslaved?"

"I was collared by a religious court for heresy, Mistress," the girl sighed. "I asked questions, questions as to why we worshiped the Great Green God (she flipped her hands twice before cupping them palm down) Tomar-Re. After all, he was just another alien, but the colony elders didn't like my asking questions like that. A quick trial, and now I'm here in a system full of aliens." She looked sideways at Cassidy, "No offense, Mistress, but you have some very strange customs."

With a snort, Cassidy agreed, "Every planet has strange customs. What's one of ours?"

"Clothing, Mistress," she said instantly, gesturing to her smock. "On every other planet I've seen, it is only worn for protection, which one dons at the workplace or for bad weather. However, on this planet (she gestured out the windows, across the lunar landscape at Earth), you wear clothing _all_ the time! The females wear more than the males do, even in the hottest weather! Even slaves like I must wear a smock, their collars and belts are not enough! It makes no sense!"

Cassidy chuckled, "No, it doesn't. Still, it's the custom, like the sprayers on Kostis? Everyone must have one, and spray the air between them while they talk."

The girl chuckled, "Very true, Mistress. I spent those visits locked into a gag, even aboard ship, as Master didn't want to spend the few grams to buy me a sprayer. I had to write notes in Trade on a board to communicate."

"Some owners can be overly frugal, can't they?" Cassidy said. "I remember my..."

"Your..." the girl asked. She gazed at Cassidy, "You wore a collar, Mistress?"

"Yes, I did," she admitted. She touched the back of her neck, "I still have a mark where my collar linked to my spinal cord. She didn't want to own me, but we were forced by circumstance to play Mistress and slave in public. In private," she shrugged again, "we were partners. She needed my knowledge, I needed her protection." She sighed, changing the subject. "What are your plans?"

"I don't know, Mistress," she sighed. "If Master returns for me, which I doubt, I'll be his slave again. Otherwise, I'll see if I can sell myself to a ship that uses slaves for crew."

"What about your freedom?"

"Mistress, I can't be freed." She touched her collar, "I was enslaved by a court, only a court could free me, and that's not likely. Besides, in order to change my status to a common slave, which could be freed, the court would need my controller chip, and I don't know where that is." She gestured at her waist, "My belt can't even be unlocked without a token that's authorized by my chip." She smiled sadly, "Thank you for your concern, Mistress, but I'll be a slave for the rest of my life."

Cassidy gazed at the girl, finally asking, "Would you like to be free?"

"Of course, although I wonder what I'd do. It's bad luck to mix a slave and free crew, so I'll find a master to sell myself to." She sighed.

"Y'know, you farking aliens give up too damn easy," Cassidy said casually. The girl's eyes snapped to her as she touched her phone, "Portmaster's office, Alfred Pennyworth, please." She grinned, "Hello, Alfred, it's Cassidy."

The view screen set in a wall lit, the image of an immaculately groomed older man on it. "Hello, Miss Yates, Miss Wrench. What can I do for you?"

"You can help me figure out a way to get this farking collar off her neck, old friend."

"What I, as the Portmaster, can do for the moment, I have. The claim period still has another seven point six months to go, in which I am obligated by law to hand over Miss Wrench to her owner, should he reappear. I calculate a one point three percent chance that will occur, the damage and interest her master owed the Port exceeded her market value after three weeks. This does not take into account the criminal charges he faces." He paused, "I recall your assistance in my own manumission, Miss Yates. However, as Portmaster, while I have some legal jurisdiction over her, it does not encompass the manumission of sentient beings, as reflected in the treaty of 2113 that established the legal basis for lunar government. I have studied it most assiduously, and I have consulted with outside legal firms. It is rife with unnecessary verbiage, in an unforeseen loophole, I may sell her to the highest bidder under certain circumstances, one of which is abandonment of property. I have tentatively listed her as an item for bid in the Portmaster's auction to be held in nine months."

"Why don't I bid for her?"

"You do not have the required minimum in your account."

"Fark."

"However, Alfred Pennyworth does." Cassidy's eyes snapped to the view screen, as Alfred said, "If you are willing, I will back you in your bid. However, a Terran citizen may not legally own a slave. There are two options here. One, a member of the Solar Guard may own one in the performance of their duties, not to exceed thirty days. This would give you title, but not manumit her. Two, you might ... escape the Port master's jurisdiction with title to her, fly to another planet, say Hipposae four..."

"Which happens to be this sector's headquarters..."

"By coincidence, yes. It is also a planet in which the crime of heresy does not exist. You then file a motion to invalidate her judicial enslavement, reducing it to simple enslavement. Her collar would then be reset as a common slave. However, you would need to show productive employment for the next year as part of your application for her manumission. I would suggest you find work as insystem cargo carriers, their economy is growing rapidly. Your new engines will help to offset the age of your ... ship."

"I can't afford new engines, I was going to retune them..."

"If you will allow me to invest in your venture, Captain?" Cassidy nodded dumbly, as Wrench sat, open mouthed in shock. "Very well, I have placed an order for new Tanaka GS400 engines and their associated power sources. They will be placed in storage at Port Oldridge until they can be installed. Plans are now proceeding apace, shouldn't the two of you be studying?"

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 30, 2001:  
London, 105 Charing Cross Road, Arrowhead lobby: 08:27  
_**------------------------

Elizabeth Sterling took a deep breath, checking her appearance in the wall's polished metal while another girl preened a meter away. Picking up her briefcase, she approached the security guard, giving him a brief smile, "Hello, I'm Ms. Sterling, I have an interview with Ms. Bundy?"

The guard gave her a brief smile as he glanced at his computer, "So you do, luv. 'Alf a tic, please," he said as he jotted a number in a log book, then passed her a numbered pass on a lanyard. "You've number 47, please sign in, return that to me when you're finished." He sipped takeaway tea from a paper cup as she did so. "That will get y' in the building, the tag is good for certain doors and the loo. Mrs. Simmons will be down in a tic ... 'Ere she is. Good luck, luv."

------------------------

Mrs. Simmons, a pleasant but professional older lady in a neat cream linen skirted suit, ushered her into a small meeting room on the third floor. "I do hope you weren't waiting long," she said, as Elizabeth took a seat, smoothing her skirt.

"Not at all," she said politely, wondering why Peter, one of Ash's network guys was there, instead of Anne Bundy, a fellow programmer. He gave her a quick grin and a wink as he adjusted an out-of-date tie, while Mrs. Simmons was reviewing her file.

"Now then, Ms. Sterling, what can you offer Arrowhead?"

------------------------

"A bloody disaster," Elizabeth said softly to herself in the nearest pub.

"Bad interview?" the publican asked as he wiped down the bar, adding, "We get a great lot of th' Arrowhead blokes in here for lunch, we're their local. Another?"

"Please," she said, fishing out coins. She watched the Beeb for a while, when someone asked, "This seat taken?"

"Ash! Why weren't you there? I blew the interview!" Elizabeth moaned.

"Not from where I sat," Peter said from her other side. "I voted for you, but I'm not a programmer, the closest I come is shell scripts. If you had blown it, it wouldn't have gone on as long as it did. There's a booth open, ladies," he added.

Ash snorted as she said, "Shell scripts indeed. He tops out in C, but you were way past him with ADA and Assembly. Mrs. Simmons was way out of her depth. She knew it, but you know the Personnel types never give anything away." She waved at the barkeep to signal another round, adding, "The fish here is excellent for pub grub."

"As far as why Ash wasn't there, she lives with you, and Anne's in class Monday through Thursday," Peter said. "My shout for lunch, I need to make up for boring you for three hours."

------------------------  
**_Monday, July 30, 2001:  
London, 105 Charing Cross Road, Arrowhead Personnel: 14:40  
_**------------------------

"Mrs. Simmons, why did you mark Ms. Sterling's application as 'Do Not Hire'?" Karen asked from the office doorway.

The older woman sniffed, "Isn't it obvious? She went from an excellent position with the City of London to waiting tables. There has to be something wrong with her, I couldn't understand one word in twenty she said."

"Yet she's a native of London, so it isn't a language difficulty," Karen said softly, adding, "This is a specialist position, that's why Peter was there, and he signed off on her." She gazed at the older woman, "I hired you upon the recommendation of a professor, Mrs. Simmons. I am fully aware that I am, as you have so indecorously called me, 'a mere child', and that I do not have your breadth of experience in Personnel. I am also aware that you possess a minor title, and mention in Brook's. Perhaps you are unaware that my family has kept the same house in London, which is on the National Trust, since the tenth century. Perhaps you should consider why."

She gazed at the older woman, finally adding, "Please call Ms. Sterling's mobile, and set up a second interview with Anne, Peter and myself for Friday, Mrs. Simmons."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, July 31, 2001:  
_****_Columbus, Ohio, David Smith Investments LLC: 13:32 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"When you came to me with this plan, I thought you and your husband were nuts," Jocelyn Lester said from behind her desktop computer. "You'd never done anything with metals or options and tungsten was a weird place to start." '_Helluva gamble for two normally conservative investors_,' she added internally.

"But it seems to have worked, hasn't it?" Maggie Morton asked.

"I will freely admit that it has, Maggie. I haven't seen growth like this in anything recently except Arrowhead Investments in London." Jocelyn paused for a moment, but her clients didn't speak. "Well, let's get this done."

Click.

"I just sold all but two tons worth of the tungsten futures held in your joint private account."

Click.

"Those were the futures held by your retirement account."

Click.

"Your husband's retirement account."

Click. Click.

"That repays the loans you took from your retirement accounts to partially fund your joint account purchase, and your mortgage."

Click. Click. Click.

"Now we've reinvested 25 of the proceeds from those three sales into new options that expire at the end of October. I'll tell you right now, if the price of tungsten doesn't keep going up, you could lose a lot of money." Her client said nothing.

Click.

"And finally, we've exercised the option on those last two tons. You have three business days to make arrangements to get it shipped from Port of Miami to wherever."

"My brother-in-law's place in Newark. We just don't have that much storage space at home."

'_Why do you need the actual metal_?' Jocelyn asked herself as the computer calculated the sizable commission she'd just earned. "Capital gains is going to take a nice chunk out of it, but I still have to say 'Congratulations'. For the moment anyway, you and your husband are millionaires."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 1, 2001:  
London, Zabini Apothecary: 08:12  
_**------------------------

Mattie concentrated, stirring her cauldron anti-clockwise twice a minute, no more, no less. The potion slowly clarified, becoming a rich teal color and smelling of cinnamon. With her left hand, she slowly dropped the ground bay leaves in, waiting for the sparks and smoke to dissipate. Removing the stirring rod, she stepped back as Hermione said, "That's right. Let it simmer for two minutes, now, and rinse off your stir rod."

"When does it turn pink?" she asked from the sink.

"After the next step."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, August 2, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead's loading dock: 11:22  
_**------------------------

"Sign here, mate."

"I'm missing one," Paul objected, adding "I want to look at that one," gesturing at one crate with splintered wood. The trucker shrugged, and fetched a pry bar from his truck.

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 3, 2001:  
London, Earls Court Exhibition Centre, Arrowhead exhibit: 10:35  
_**------------------------

Anne walked past with a hand cart loaded with boxes of application forms and business cards, as Karen and Mattie unrolled the antigravity mat, a stack of carpet strips lying nearby, next to the folding tables the Centre provided. Karen stood, stretching, her hands on her lower back, saying, "We need to add extension strips to our kit for these shows, there's only one power point, and the adapters won't reach."

Mattie dusted off her jeans, "Why don't you pick some up, while Anne and I set up the displays? I think we can borrow someone to help with the big ones," gesturing at the other people setting up their company displays.

"Something to eat woulds't be appreciated," Anne said, as she walked past.

"_How can she eat like a horse and still maintain her figure_?" Karen wondered.

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 3, 2001:  
London, Earls Court Exhibition Centre, Arrowhead exhibit : 11:26  
_**------------------------

"Set it to seventeen percent," Karen said. "That's close enough to lunar gravity." Mattie nodded, keying it into the controller, then hiding it among their various boxes and bags as Karen proceeded down her checklist. "Warning signs for the gravity," she said, looking around. "Buckets for the nauseous," duly ticked off.

"I do confess to nervousness," Anne admitted, dressed in a new Chinese skinsuit. "I am not accustomed to great numbers of people. The most I have seen before was at a joust."

"I'm just as much on stage as you are," Mattie agreed, dressed in a skirted suit. She nervously shuffled the stack of business cards in her pocket, then slapped her forehead, "Water! We're going to be talking for the next six hours, we'll need something to drink."

"Good'un," Karen said, adding 'Cooler of ice water' to the checklist, as Anne said, "I shall fetch us each a bottle from the merchant." Her sister passed Anne a ten pound note, and she left as Mr. Thompson arrived, dressed in a conservative suit.

"Ms. Nicheyev will be arriving shortly," he informed them.

Karen looked up, "Did she change? She was wearing her usual leather this morning."

"She was wearing a nice skirted suit, the last I saw of her," he said gruffly.

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 3, 2001:  
London, Earls Court Exhibition Centre, employment exhibition: 12:07  
_**------------------------

Shernette looked around, but Arrowhead's space was crowded by people gazing at the different models, and just enjoying the light gravity. She sighed, and was about to give up, when someone asked, "Excuse me, what's that material?" She looked around, then down to see someone wearing a skirted suit, with long black hair in a ponytail. Replying with a touch of pride, "It's bamboo, I made it myself."

"Interesting. May I?" Shernette nodded, and the girl felt the caftan, "It feels like silk. How did you make it?"

"People think bamboo's a wood, but it's not, it's a grass, and it has fibers that can be separated out, and spun into clothing. It's a beautiful, natural renewable resource, you can grow a twenty meter stalk of Moso in six weeks, and it's completely biodegradable and antibacterial."

"Anything special about washing it?" Shernette shook her head, "Machine washable."

"What's the downside to it?"

"It's a lot of labor to separate the fibers, and spin them into thread and cloth. This was my thesis project, this outfit, and it took me months to make. Machinery could do it quicker, but..." Shernette shrugged, "That costs a lot of money, to hire the engineers, prototyping, building the plant." She hugged her papers, "I thought I could get on with one of the fashion houses that are here, but they're not hiring, and I thought I'd come here, just to look, before I went home and changed to go to work." Sighing, she asked, "What about you, are you hoping to get on here?"

"I'm hiring people," the other girl replied, and Shernette snapped around, finally recognizing the white marks in the dark hair. "You're _Wayne_," she whispered.

"Yes, and I'd like to thank you, you pointed out a problem to me. People are going to want something to wear besides their skinsuits." She looked up at the taller girl, "Interested in solving the problem?"

"How..."

"Design, manufacture, marketing, distribution and recycling of clothing and accessories for men and women made of lunar materials. Not the stuff that you see on the catwalks that nobody buys, but the regular, everyday stuff, the kind you throw in the wash every week. I don't want to ship hand towels from Earth, and let's not forget solar panels and packaging like cargo nets and burlap bags." She looked up at the taller, model-thin girl. "Think you're up to the challenge?"

"I don't have anywhere near the money it would take... And I don't know how..."

"Money is a tool, just like your brain," Miss Wayne said dismissively. She looked up at the girl, and took pity, "As far as how, take a look at what would be required by a company, and what can you sell them to solve a problem. You have to keep in mind that they need to keep their costs low, but you still need to make a profit on that item. Now, you wouldn't produce steel cylinders for shipping gases like oxygen, but why can't you make a cargo net to secure those cylinders in the hold? We're not doing huge quantities of things right now, but we do need as much as possible to be recyclable. Now, If you're interested in that challenge, put together a company, and my venture capital firm will investigate it. We'll need to see a business plan, some prototype machinery, designs, and so forth." She grinned at the tall, exotically beautiful girl, "Don't tell me you haven't daydreamed about it."

Shernette blushed, "Of course, I even have a name for the company." At the inquiring look, she stammered, "Tallgrass, Ltd."

"Then put Tallgrass together, spend a couple hundred quid in doing so legally, and sit down with an accountant and your mates to work out the problems and solutions. Technical information for planning and materials are available on our web site," Miss Wayne said, a business card appearing in her hand. "Let me have your CV, I'll get together with you later."

Dazed, Shernette passed over a copy as she vanished into the crowd. Shaking herself, she looked at the card, reading 'Ms. H.M. Wayne, CEO, Arrowhead Investments.'

------------------------

"Charlie!" someone called, and he turned to see Mattie. "What are you doing, I thought you were good with Greywolf?"

"Thought I'd see what it was about, and I wanted to feel the gravity," he added.

"Great!" she said. "Will I see you tonight?" He nodded, and she said, "Bring your laptop, we'll talk about some things." She saw Karen Bundy coming toward her with a news crew, and she said, "Another interview. Tonight, then?"

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 3, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Werewolf cells: 16:43  
_**------------------------

The door boomed shut behind Professor Snape, and Mattie shoved her potion notes aside, as Charlie Adams walked back to join her. "They're sleeping, now," he said. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Just to catch up, we haven't really had a chance to talk," she confessed. "I've been so busy with Arrowhead, and school, I really wanted to thank you for taking care of Sprink while I was... unavailable last year." She turned on the wooden bench, still dressed in her business suit, "What's been going on with you two?"

"Ah, only if I can discuss you and Arthur," he said, wagging his finger. "I presume that you're going to the Halloween ball together?"

"I thought so, but he hasn't asked me yet," she said quietly. "What if he asks someone else, like one of the twins? I mean, I know I have a..."

"Strong personality? You're forceful?" he asked. "You're no shrinking violet, and you think it turns him off?" She nodded morosely. "Bollocks," he said. "For one thing, if it wasn't meant to be, you two would have broken up by now." He leaned forward on the wooden table, "Between you and I, he wonders what he can bring to the relationship. You have money, power, fame, and he's just an ordinary, middle class bloke. The princess and the pauper, so to speak. Why didn't you hook up with Harry Spencer in Gryffindor, for instance? You're the same class."

"Harry's a nice guy, a bit reckless to my mind, but there's no chemistry there," she replied. "Believe it or not, you get tired of being on stage all the time, it's draining. I can relax, rest, and Arthur and his family keep me grounded, keep me focused on that middle class bloke. With a lot of people, when they suddenly get a great influx of cash, they go a bit wild, buying a Porsche. Arthur's not that type, he's the kind to stick with his old, reliable Ford." She grinned, "He may get the air conditioning fixed on it, though." She tapped on the table with her pen, "He's like... a comfortable pair of shoes. I can wear heels all day, which I don't recommend in lower gravity (she grinned), but my feet are going to kill me at night. Arthur's like... going barefoot, or wearing a pair of trainers."

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 3, 2001:  
London, Crown & Gander pub: 17:23  
_**------------------------

"What's wrong, luv? You're not all there," Ernie, one of pub's regulars asked. "Not that I'm complaining, mind, but you've pulled me three pints, an' I don't drink ales."

"Oh! Sorry," Shernette apologized, pulling a proper stout for him. She looked around the pub to see if she was needed, checking the mirrors, then leaning on the dark wood of the bar. "I went over to the job show at Earls Court," she confided. "I hoped to get a job with a fashion house, but none were hiring. I wore the dress I made, but the only reaction I got to it was from someone who admired the material. I got her card, though." She fished it out, passing it over.

"Gor..." Ernie said, examining it, then passing it back. "Y' met a bloody billionaire. How was she?"

"Small, and looks ever so young, like you saw on the telly the other day from New York," she replied. "Driven, and passionate. She said she had a problem, and invited me to solve it for her, and that's what's been on my mind."

"Aside from spending her dosh, what problem would she have?"

"Cloth, and clothing, and other kit, like burlap and cargo nets," she said. "I bumped into her in the loo before I left, she said briefly that they can't use cling film on cargo, it's a disposal problem. That's why she suggested rope cargo nets and burlap bags."

"I remember those from the Great War against the Jerries, when I worked the docks," Phil, an old-timer said. He blinked, asking, "What are you going to do, then, girl?"

"Figure a way to make them, and clothing, and other kit, on the moon," Shernette replied.

"Good!" Phil said. "You write down the steps involved, I'll get my grandson out of his fancy City law office to help," he said as he took an ale and drank deep.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 4, 2001:  
London, Earls Court Exhibition Centre, Ladies' lounge: 07:32  
_**------------------------

"Is this seat taken?" someone asked, and Elaine looked up to see a young girl with a cardboard box and long black hair in a messy ponytail standing there. "I need to change for the show," she added, and Elaine gestured.

"Thanks," she said, and Elaine heard an American accent as she put her foot up and started to unlace her trainers. With a grunt, she sat, pulling them off and putting them next to her box, then standing to pull down her rather tight jeans, which she folded neatly and shoved in a plastic bag. Socks were stuffed into shoes, and added to the bag, her green polo shirt followed, and then she stood there in bra and knickers. A white rubber... '_No, not rubber..._' Elaine thought, asking, "What is that, and what's it made of?"

She fished out a tube of wet-wipes, skinning off her bra and knickers as she replied, "It's a custom-fitted suit, a spacesuit." She passed it over as she gave herself a quick sponge bath, adding, "It's considerably different from the NASA ones, or even galactic tech. That's a prototype from Taiwan, I really couldn't tell you how they made it. Some sort of vapor deposition, I think." She accepted it back, sitting down to work her toes into the feet, then pulling the suit up like a pair of tights. When it was part way up her thighs, she fished out a sterile package from the box, adding, "This part I don't like, but..." She opened the package, inserting three white plastic adapters, then connecting them inside the suit. Wiggling it up over her hips, she commented, "One of the design criteria was that it handle the monthly visits from Auntie. They must have some female designers, there's no under wires for support, either." She wiggled a bit, then worked her arms down the sleeves, clipping a device under the hem on each wrist. "Medical sensors, and glove connections," she added.

"What's the difference with, what did you call it? Galactic tech?" Elaine asked, fascinated.

"Galactic skinsuits have much greater endurance, up to two weeks, whereas this one is about twelve hours, primarily because of the rebreather. Theirs feel like a heavy woolen bodysuit, this is more of a diver's wetsuit, and we need to use a backpack, their oxygen storage is built into the fabric of the suit. It can also change color, we're stuck with white for now. Both suits only have one seam, so there's no pinhole leaks to worry about. Still, they've only been working on it for a few months, so I'm not complaining." She reached behind herself, pulling at a zipper up the back. "Well, I'm complaining about that, though."

"Allow me," Elaine said, adding, "It's like a zipper on a food storage bag." She added, "Like the zipper on a sheath dress, dear, use a paperclip on a string to pull on."

"I think that's where they got the idea," was the reply as she dug into the cardboard box. She settled a rubber apron connected to a blue plastic backpack around her shoulders, two straps being velcro'd under her armpits. "I'll add the string to the list. Now I've got an airtight seal with the helmet, but there's a design glitch. Whoever designed this wanted the bottom hoses connected first, but they must have been a limbo dancer, because I can't reach into the shoulder harness if I do. Would you be so kind? They're color coded."

"Certainly," Elaine said. She crouched, then asked, "Would you bend forward? They're just a bit shy of fitting. A bit more, please." She braced herself, screwing the connectors on. "Those could be an inch or two longer. All done."

The girl's eyes crossed as she straightened up, "Thank you. That kind of... forces them in a bit more." She connected another strap around her waist, then offered her hand with a grin, "Since you've assisted me with my toilette, it's only proper that I should introduce myself. Mattie Wayne, of Arrowhead."

"Elaine Chao, unemployed secretary," she said as she shook hands. She giggled, "Perhaps you should promote the phrase 'Suit up with a friend.'"

"Not a bad idea," Miss Wayne said, sitting again to pull on her boots. She checked to make certain she had all her kit, then motioned, "If you're interested, I'll introduce you to my Personnel director."


	9. 5 August – 11 August, 2001

A/N: I'd like to give a big thanks to my editor, GITM, for keeping me on track.

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.   
------------------------  
9: 5 August – 11 August, 2001   
------------------------  
**_Year of the People 21649 (Sunday, August 5, 2390):  
Sector 2820, Red Forests, Speaker of Wisdom's tree:  
_**------------------------

"Present all? I see not Wind among Leaves," the old male said.

"Forest mother was speaking with her, Wise One," one young cub said as she settled into place for the evening lesson.

"Chide her not I shall when I see her," the grey-furred Wookie said, drawing on a water-skin. He set it aside, and settled more comfortably on his bed-skins. "Others of hunting and fishing have taught you, and how to avoid the various meat-beasts which roam our world, and how the small ones to hunt."

The cubs settled in as he continued, only to be interrupted by a small, brown-furred cub who appeared in his tree-hole, asking, "Miss greatly I have?"

The elder grunted, waving her in. "Again exploring, Wind among Leaves?"

She shuffled nervously, finally admitting, "To see the hoo-man place I went. Stay among the tall trees, I did!"

"Say not against Forest Mother I will," Speaker of Wisdom said. "Fortunate indeed you saw them, as we shall discuss them this star-rise." Wind among Leaves took her place as he continued, "Space travel we have had for twenty thousands of sun-turns, the hoo-mans a few hundred. Yet farther they have gone into the galaxy in those few sun-turns than we have in twenty thousand. Indeed, their law limits their naa-vee to their colony worlds, and their home system, for they are warriors to the marrow, from the youngest cub to the oldest." He gave a rough snort of humor, "One of their sayings most true is, 'Stand not between cub and dam.' Attest to it I can, from my own eyes."

"Warriors?" one cub asked. "Hunters you mean, as us."

"Nay, cub, I speak true. The hoo-mans are warriors, and have been since they stood upright. Every twig and leaf of their society, even those who bear not blade in anger, fight daily, even with a thinking machine, or in the market. They are rich, they are growing still in power, and..." he looked about, "They count the People friends, friends from when we once aided them. Truly, better is it to give self to meat-beasts than to have a hoo-man as enemy."

"Seen them I have," Breaks Branches said. "Break in half by myself can I."

"Perhaps, if without weapons when met," the elder said. "Advise it not I would. From an age of standing, hoo-mans learn to fight and..." he added softly, "to kill." He shifted to look the brash youngster in the eye. "Their honor code prevents killing another intelligent being. Honor, not all have, though guard their own, they do. Attack a youngling hoo-man, if one of their nest-mates does not rescue it, rest assured the dam would. In the history of our world, only once did a member of the People kill a hoo-man." He raised a paw, displaying his climbing-claw. "The hoo-mans left us to judge him, and so we did. We broke his claws and left him on the forest floor, to survive or not, as he pleased."

There was silence broken only by night-bird song as the cubs reflected on this. Somewhat shaken, Breaks Branches asked quietly, "Said you saw of a hoo-man dam defending her cub."

"Accurate, that is not," he replied. "The tale I will tell. Know you of the silver-hides?" There were shudders, and he continued, "My dam had taken me to the ground, when I was younger than you, and know not I why. Two caught her on the ground, I was only able to climb above their heads while she fought and died. The silver-hides were to hunt me, pull me from the tree easily they could, when a hoo-man in one of their metal beasts arrived. She raised me to a branch, killing the silver-hides, and others that arrived to feast. Long she guarded me, until her metal beast was killed, then from it she crawled, and fought on with weapons until they were exhausted. Mortally hurt, she killed the last, greatest meat-beast, what she called a t'rex, with her blade."

Here he paused, reaching behind him to display a sheath, the long blade sang when he drew it, the metal still covered with bloodstains. Looking at Breaks Branches, he leaned forward to rap his skull, saying, "Fought with her mind, she did, until last breath she gave. Cut the meat-beast's ankle-strings, walk it could not." Lifting the blade, he said softly, "This blade she used, the hoo-mans call a k't'na, while dozens of the People struggled to reach her, and lift her to safety." He looked steadily at Breaks Branches, asking softly, "See you why you injure not a hoo-man?"

------------------------  
**_Monday, August 6, 2001:  
Warsaw, Arrowhead Design, Ltd, meeting room: 12:19 (GMT + 1)  
_**------------------------

Vasily Danilov nodded as the Chinese engineer finished. "Thank you, Comrade Yin. It is a great pleasure to know the skinsuit design works well. What of the modifications Comrades Bundy and Wayne requested?"

"The extensions to the waste tubes are simplicity itself," the fellow from Taipei said. "As are the zipper. The emergency helmet will require more thought, as will the backpack design. Our models did not encounter the problems they did in donning it, perhaps because Europeans are physically somewhat larger than Asians. Currently, we are considering a modular design, with the waste tank and pump worn over the gluteus. The suggestion of a military-style web belt to attach equipment to is a good one, we can use that to secure the tank to the waist."

"A modular approach would also allow more flexibility when working, Comrade," Vasily added. "What of the umbilical for support from a fixed structure or ship?"

"Pumping waste over several hundred meters would require much greater pressure. We think it best to simply leave that connection alone, and provide connections for air, power and communications, with a steel cable for structural support. When the valve is opened for the air, it rotates contacts into place which switch off the internal air supply pump, preserving it for emergencies. This will be controlled by an add-on front chest plate, we are also including four twelve-volt power connectors and associated D rings for securing tool lanyards." He leaned forward to glance down the table at his German counterpart, "Did you receive the specifications we emailed you?"

"Ja," the blonde said, "We had a suggestion regarding that. Instead of redesigning the boots with magnetic plates, why not put strip magnets on webbing, and attach them with Velcro on the bottom of existing boots?" She shoved back her hair, adding, "It would be much less expensive, and would attach the user to the steel shelves we have designed." She gestured, "The user clips the shelf into the beam where they need to, stands on it, and does their work. This way, we don't need to design in counter-torque collars, we can buy power hand tools off the shelf, and simply build the appropriate power adapters with a two meter cable."

"Excellent! Thank you, Comrade. Please remember that the gloves are thick, test the connections with a pair of winter woolen gloves," the blonde nodded as Vasily went on, "What of the temporary shelters?"

"The optimum design remains a modification of a cargo container, one six meters long and three meters square," she replied, adding, "They can be stacked as well." She asked, "You reported that lunar rock was easy to cut?" Vasily nodded, and she replied, "Then we suggest a first step of cutting a cavern, if one does not already exist, to the desired dimensions, and running power and life support lines to a separate life support container."

The Chinese engineer raised a finger, "Isn't that a single point of failure for something so critical?"

"All the modules have backup redundant life support modules," Frau Gersten replied. "The primary reason for the separate module is the noise of the equipment. After a hard day, we do not want them trying to sleep next to a noisy diesel generator." Heads nodded in agreement. "We leave the pumps and generator outside, in vacuum where they are quiet, and run the appropriate plumbing outside." She steepled her fingers, "We are also installing a common room, for the crews to eat together, watch television and socialize. Our estimates are that a ten-man crew would take three hours to cut the rock and move the spoil, an additional two hours to move the six modules into position and connect plumbing and electrical, and another two to erect the temporary pressure seal over the mouth of the cave. A day's work, but then they have a reasonably comfortable home, similar to the travel trailers we have all lived in on job sites."

Vasily saying, "Thank you, Comrade Gersten, well I remember those trailers." There was a chuckle as he turned, "Comrade Takei, what of our vehicles?"

"The designs we received were well considered," the Japanese engineer said. "We especially liked the common wheel, a coiled wire design provides both traction on slopes and moderate shock absorption. These are problems that the Apollo rovers encountered. If we can orbit an additional dozen GPS satellites, then the precision navigational problem can be considered solved, although we can still include way points. The navigational software we received from Miss Bundy was excellent, our software people have had to do very little modification to it, that was primarily due to her inexperience with software design."

"Comrade Stossel, the reactors?"

"Very little modification required, primarily due to using helium instead of nitrogen as the coolant gas," the German replied. "The British report having a shipment of used uranium fuel available, we have the reprocessing equipment ready for installation, however, they are insisting on a separate orbital platform for the transfer of the fuel and waste. I think that is a reasonable safety measure, we do not want radioactive waste near tourists."

"Ach, think of the liability," Frau Gersten said with a shudder.

"If Mr. Stossel can get us the expected radiation exposure, we can design an external radiation suit," Mr. Yin said. The German nodded, Frau Gersten asking, "What about a mining suit?"

The Chinese considered, "It would be most cost-efficient to build the hard suits as modular components in a range of sizes over the skinsuit," he said. He was about to continue when Vasily's phone rang.

"Da?" he asked, followed by rapid Russian. He flipped the cell phone closed and stood, "You must forgive me. My daughter Svetlana's contractions have started. I must leave at once for Moscow."

"Best wishes for your daughter," Frau Gersten said. "I hope the baby is healthy and happy." Similar good wishes came from the others as Vasily nodded, quickly leaving.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, August 7, 2001:  
London, _**The Leaky Cauldron**_: 07:23  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," Albus heard, and he turned to see Miss Wayne.

Smiling, he flipped his bar towel over his shoulder, asking "What can I do for you this fine morning, Miss Wayne? A cup of tea?"

"Tea would be appreciated, sir," she replied, and as he poured, he asked, "You seem concerned with something."

She nodded faintly, blowing on the tea to cool it, then finally asked, "Do you remember Malfoy's trial? When Cassidy was there?"

"Indeed I do," he chuckled, "It was most interesting to have not one, but _two_ time travelers testify." He leaned back, "Something concerns you about Miss Yates."

"Yes..." she said, staring into her cup. Albus waited for her, and she continued, "Did you pick up any... thoughts she might have had?"

Furrowing his brow as he considered, he finally uttered one word, "Bronze."

"So did I," she said with a sigh, asking, "As far as I know, we were the only two Occlumens in the court room. Is that right?"

"That I know of," he agreed. "Would you like me to erase or block the memory?"

"I may," she said, sipping her tea and adding a sugar cube. She stirred, thinking. "Do I tell her?" she asked.

"I would not, but I am hardly well versed in the physics of time-travel," he said. "Perhaps you might consult with Mr. Kent regarding this problem?" He looked up as the doorbell to muggle London rang, the Bundy sisters entering. "In any event, you need to get to class, I believe today is Charms?"

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 8, 2001:  
Warsaw, Arrowhead Design, Babice airfield test hanger: 12:19 (GMT + 1)  
_**------------------------

Frau Gersten frowned as the crane lowered the habitat module into the large pool. At twenty-five meters across and fifteen deep, it held a few million liters of water. The only substitution allowed had been water for air pumps, all else would be as it was on the moon. The simple mechanical airlocks would allow the volunteer diver inside to leave quickly if necessary. Glancing across the pool, she watched the team handling the hoses connecting to the life support module parked outside the hanger. The crane stopped when the module was submerged to a depth of ten meters, one of the divers reporting, "Minor deformation of the pressure hull. No leaks yet."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 8, 2001:  
Washington DC, White House, President's daily briefing: 06:58 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Finally, sir, we have indications that the terrorist group Al Qaeda is planning a strike in the US, possibly involving aircraft," the National Security Adviser told the President.

"And?" Luthor asked. "Do you have any concrete indications of anything? Any information of their plans? Any hard evidence, or is this more posturing and smoke from a bunch of Islamic radicals?"

"No, sir, not yet. CIA doesn't have that many agents in Afghanistan."

"Then don't bother me with it until you have something concrete," he said, adding, "Get out."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 8, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 07:51 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Didya hear the latest?" Teela asked. "Old Man Murchison sold his place, I met the couple that bought it. They're from Virginia, he just accepted a job at the University..."

"Really?" Julie asked casually, catching Arthur's eye and raising her eyebrow. "What department?"

"Physics, chemistry, something like that," her sister replied, as Bill lowered the comics and looked at his two older siblings.

------------------------  
**_Thursday, August 9, 2001:  
London, _**The Leaky Cauldron**_: 07:49  
_**------------------------

"Oy, there you are, mate!" Sprink said. "It's a good thing we caught you in time," she told Mattie. "Just want to let you know that day after tomorrow, we're going to kidnap you."

"But... I have these reports to read, and studying to do..." she protested.

"Which you can do on Sunday," Amy Johnson said. "We'll help you, but this is a girl's day out. No business, no Ballycastle, no Arrowhead, no Solar Guard. We're going to enjoy London, and mate, you are not going to spend one bloody farthing." She glowered, "Understand that, mate?"

"But... but..."

"Motor out of tune, mate?" Sprink asked. "A full day of shopping, dinner, dancing, movie, and then we go to my place where we... discuss... our men." (She waggled her eyebrows.)

"And what we need to do to fix them, and fix each other up," Amanda said. "Not open for discussion, Wayne. We'll pick you up Saturday morning at your Auntie's place."

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 10, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 23:45 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Halfway through the second floor window she'd chosen for entry, Lady Shiva found herself caught. She could breathe, slowly, but she otherwise couldn't move. Before she could think of a way out of the trap, the door opened.

The irony was not lost on Lady Shiva. The summer had left him a little taller, a little thinner and much more tan and blonde than their last meeting, but it was definitely Arthur Morton who stood, wand at the ready, a meter away dressed only in a pair of scarlet and grey shorts. For a little before midnight, he was surprisingly awake. "I mean you no harm. I merely wish to talk," she offered.

Arthur regarded the woman thought to be the deadliest martial artist on the planet. The magical traps and alarms he'd carefully built with his brother and sister over the summer appeared to be working. Closing the door behind him, he warily entered the bathroom. "You know ma'am, the front door does work. Phone does too, even if it's bugged."

"So what now?" Shiva managed to ask. "Do you plan to call the police?"

"No ma'am," he chuckled softly. "We both know they couldn't hold you on their best day and your worst. However, if the feds living across the street notice you stuck there, I don't think either one of us will like what happens after that." After a pause to allow her to digest the fact that he knew they were there as well as she did, Arthur continued, "If you give your word you and yours won't harm me and mine, I'll release you. Then you can come in through the front door like a normal person and we can talk."

Shiva considered it. If he wanted her dead, he'd had plenty of opportunity. "You would take my word?"

"You are who and what you are, but from all reports you are also an honorable woman. So yes, I would."

Shiva knew that trust was a condition for betrayal, yet the thought of betraying him unsettled her. It would, in the long run, be counterproductive. "I give you my word."

------------------------

"Tell your people to stand down," he said from the other side of the front door. "There's one in the tree house and another with a clear line of fire on this door." He'd spotted four others, but didn't want her to know that.

Shiva frowned before waving off her people. There were eight, but he shouldn't have seen more than the sniper that was on the Morton property. For someone who was supposedly only a wizard in training, he was showing more competence than expected. There had to be some reason why Wayne liked him, maybe that was it. "They're called off," she said.

"Better safe than dead." After waving his wand around, he unlocked the door and stepped back, the three stun bombs he normally reserved for Mattie held loosely in his left hand. He motioned her into the house and toward the living room couch.

Lady Shiva settled herself deeply into the comfortable looking couch, more to put him at ease than for any other reason. "I'm not your enemy. However, we do not have much time to discuss business."

He perched on the edge of a seat, wand ready but not aimed at her. "That's true ma'am, I'm sure all your enemies are dead. Why do we 'not have much time'?"

A backhanded compliment to be sure, but Shiva smiled in acknowledgment. "For the simple reason that I'm jamming the signals coming out of this house, which is certainly causing alarms to go off in Fort Meade and Gotham."

"Why Gotham?" Julie asked from the doorway, her wand held ready.

"You are aware that the Clan has thoroughly bugged your house, for your protection, Miss Morton?" Shiva asked calmly, adding "As have the FBI and the NSA. President Luthor considers you and your family the key to forcing the starship, and its technology, into his hands."

"He doesn't know Mattie very well, or her family," Arthur said.

"This is true, but then he doesn't know the deeper relationships of her family," Shiva said. "In any case, I owe your brother a favor, and I had a request to make of him. As you no doubt remember, I have a challenge match against Miss Wayne coming up soon. I feel her greatest potential would be unlocked if she had something, or someone, to fight for." She let her statement hang in the room to see what conclusions the young man would draw.

"You want me to be bait," Arthur said flatly.

"Bait for what?" Bill Morton said as he came into the room, shotgun held firmly on Shiva.

"Dad, put that away before you get hurt," Arthur said. A small smile crossed Shiva's face, she didn't move otherwise.

"I may not be a wizard, but my Remington 870 and I would like to know who's in my house at midnight," Bill Morton said.

"Express model twelve gauge, six in the magazine and one in the chamber," Shiva said calmly, "As you learned in basic training at Great Lakes."

"Arthur?" Bill asked his son, who sighed, "Dad, this is Ms. Sandra Woosan, also known as Lady Shiva. We... met in London. Please put down the shotgun."

"Why should I, and it's boot camp, not basic training, Ms. Woosan."

She nodded in acknowledgment as Julie said, "It wouldn't do any good, Dad. She's here in peace at the moment, and we did invite her in."

"What they are very carefully not saying, Mr. Morton, because it would violate their oaths, is that I was hired by President Luthor to kidnap them and steal Ms. Wayne's starship," Shiva said calmly. "My price was a blank Presidential pardon. However, I received a better offer, one in which I think your son might play a vital part, as bait for Ms. Wayne. However, young Arthur there turned the tables on me very neatly, catching me like a fly in amber. I agreed to a peaceful discussion, as I owe him a favor."

"Why should we co-operate with you?" Bill Morton asked.

"For one reason, I think young Miss Wayne has the right of it. It's past time we moved out of the cradle of Earth. Secondly, there is no real challenge left for me on Earth, I want to discuss business with Miss Wayne. However, we need to resolve this challenge duel, and she needs her full potential unlocked. To do that, she needs something to fight for, and your son is one thing she _will_ fight for. Thirdly..."

"Thirdly, she'll kill you," Julie said flatly.

Shiva shrugged, "If she does, she does. I've seen enough death that I'm not afraid of the Reaper. However, that would violate her oath, which is what is limiting her. Thirdly, Mr. Morton, I will give you my personal word that your children are not in any danger from me or mine. My agents have already tested Ms. Wayne, in West Virginia, and reported great potential." She touched her earpiece, "Excuse me." She looked up, "You're about to receive another visitor."

A knock on the door, and Elena went to open it, then squealed, "It's..."

"May I come in?" Superman asked. After Julie waved her wand to let him in, he said, "Hello, Ms. Woosan."

"Hello, Superman," she replied. "We were just discussing Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton."

"Yes, I know. Good evening, Arthur, Julie. Are you looking forward to Hogwarts?" He closed the door gently behind him, "For what it's worth, Mr. Morton, I tend to agree with a good bit of what Ms. Woosan said. If Ms. Woosan is determined to test Ms. Wayne, I'll be keeping an eye out, and (he glowered at Shiva), I will step in if I feel the need. Good enough?" Bill Morton considered this, and lowered the shotgun.

"Excellent. One other thing, and then I'll go take care of the SWAT people deploying outside." The man of steel seemed to vibrate for a second, then handed Bill two small objects. "The small silver disk is a federal microphone, the small black cylinder is a Waynetech bug. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

"Um, Mr. Superman, just a minute?" Elena said. "Can I get a picture?" Shiva chuckled as Superman grinned. Elena dashed upstairs, and Shiva asked, "What is your favor, Mr. Arthur Morton?"

"That's like asking an evil genie for a wish," he said with a grin. Sobering, he said, "Mattie's makes enemies when she doesn't have to, because she's convinced they won't pay attention to her because of her age. She won't listen to me regarding that, can you... talk to her?"

"I'm not evil, I'm a businesswoman," she said with a smile. "Certainly, when the time is right, I'll discuss it with her. I think she needs to be a little more hard-hearted."

"I would disagree, but I agree, it's a flaw in her makeup," Superman said. "I'll discuss it with her myself, I have a bit of business to discuss with her regarding the JLA." He turned as Elena thundered down the stairs, "Ready, Miss Morton?"

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 11, 2001:  
London, Sheila Hawking's townhouse: 08:24  
_**------------------------

Sheila opened the door at the knock, "Good morning, ladies. Please come in, Mattie's upstairs fixing her hair, or trying to. The white streaks won't come out, she's trying to be inconspicuous."

"Perhaps I could help?" Felicia said shyly. "I'm rather good at those charms."

"One flight up, left, end of the hall on the right, knock first," Sheila said, "She's only had one cup of coffee, she's still a bit grumpy," she warned with a smile. As Felicia went upstairs, the others were motioned into the kitchen, with the offer, "Tea? Coffee?"

------------------------

"So where are you lot taking my niece?" Sheila asked, leaning against her kitchen counter, coffee in hand.

"We thought we'd go visit a shopping centre or three, spend a bit on some new kit, and relax," Karen said.

"When we're finished with her, she'll be able to stand on Trafalgar Square and none will take any notice," Tonks said, her hair shocking green this morning.

"Can you make me look older?" Mattie said, causing several people to jump. "I'm tired of people brushing me off, telling me to 'go play with my dollies'." She seethed, "I'm about ready to say fark this planet." She cut through the people standing there, refilling her coffee mug and muttering, "Being able to say 'I told you so' sounds pretty good right now. Even better from a couple AU's out."

"What's she off about?" Sprink leaned over to ask Anne, who shrugged.

"A _Times_ columnist," Karen said quietly. She raised her voice, "He's an ignorant twit, Wayne."

"I know that, and you know that. Unfortunately, a few million Brits don't," she grumbled, gulping her coffee. "I need to finish getting dressed. Excuse me," she said, walking into a closet, sliding a door closed behind her. Tonks turned to see a large steel door open, and whispered "Gor..." Wayne turned, and finished shutting the door, not before Tonks saw a variety of weapons hanging on the walls. Her sister raised an eyebrow, and she said, "Tell you later."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 11, 2001:  
London, Surrey Quays Shopping Centre: 09:01  
_**------------------------

Sprink stopped outside a shop window, asking, "Oy, anyone know about this?" She pointed to a sign reading, 'Coming 23 October: iPod' with a logo underneath.

"No clue," Mattie said, "So, you lot are going to make me over into a respectable businesswoman?"

"So respectable you'll be fit for the Queen Mum," Karen said. Pointing, "First stop, your hair."

------------------------

"Next, please," the stylist called, and Mattie closed the report, sliding it back in her bag. "I'm Jenna, and I haven't seen you in here before. What can I do for you today, luv?" the girl asked.

Mattie tilted her head back, "My hair's too long, and it's a pain in the morning. A nice short, conservative cut, I think. I need to look older. Oh, and I'll need the sweepings, please. I have a bag."

Jenna looked at the next chair, where Sprink had made similar requests, and whose hair was now being washed. She shrugged, "Fine, luv. Pity to cut this mane, though. Lean back, please and let me have a wash." As her client rested her neck in the sinks cutout, she asked, "Why older? Most women want to look younger."

"I sell services, and it's more difficult when you look like a teenager," her client replied. "Ah, that feels good," she sighed as the warm water flowed through her hair, and Jenna's fingers massaged the shampoo into her scalp. She quirked an eyebrow as some white marks started to appear in her client's hair over her ears. Someone with marks like those had gotten some prominent play in the news recently. She massaged a bit more, trying to think how to ask what she suspected. Adding more shampoo, she ventured, "You're awfully stiff, luv. Stressful week?"

"Actually, the week wasn't too bad," her client replied with an American accent. "Friday was the worst, though, a meeting that went sour on me. I didn't really expect that." '_Point two_,' Jenna thought, as her client continued, "Not only didn't he want what I was selling, he was rude and abusive." '_Point three_,' Jenna thought, thinking of the interview Victoria had mocked on Auntie Beeb's Radio Five Live. "So now you're here for a bit of retail therapy, and a wash and set," Jenna said. "It must be fascinating, though, meeting all these new people."

"It can be," her client admitted, eyes shut, "Most of the time, it's meetings and reviewing specifications and convincing the bean counters that your numbers really do add up that way." She sighed again, as Jenna worked the conditioner into her hair, "That feels so good..."

"One reason we do it, luv, so we get a fat tip," Jenna said jokingly. The client snorted in laughter, as Jenna added quietly, "You're much too young to have grey hair, dear. Would you like a touch of hair colour over your ears?"

The client's eyes shot open as Jenna asked quietly, "It is Miss Wayne, isn't it?"

------------------------

The client gazed at her warily. Jenna smiled cheerfully, "Don't worry about Haversham's column, he's a twit, and Victoria's just playing her slant on it for laughs." She gazed at Miss Wayne, asking softly, "What's it like?" She motioned up, "Up there, on the moon?"

Her client, '_Miss Wayne_,' she corrected herself, gazed at her with green eyes that seemed to see into her soul. After a minute, she replied.

"It's different, the sky is deepest black, and the stars are pinpoints of white. You can look at Earth overhead and see the outlines of the land, and the clouds, and on the night side, cities look like giant spiderwebs of white. The planet is different shades of green, fading into a thin blue band, which fades out into black." She paused a minute, then continued, "Everything is in shades of grey. The ground is like compacted sand, your boots only go in a few millimeters, and it sticks like cement dust. There was volcanoes, millions of years ago, so under the regolith is lava. Everything's been battered into grit and small pebbles by millions of years of meteorite impacts, the rock's very soft, like sandstone. The smallest craters are a few kilometers across, with rims a few hundred meters high, but most are fifty or more across, with gentle slopes a kilometer or two high."

She grinned, "Interested?"

------------------------

"You spent enough time talking with your stylist," Karen teased as the group left the hairdressers. "Want my job? I'll take yours."

"With all the interviews?" Mattie shuddered. "No thanks. I've got a proposal for you, though. Want a position as Acting Captain?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anne and I will be back in Hogwarts shortly, and Vasily reports that the basic infrastructure is about ready for the trip up to LEO. Alfred can fly the Yates, of course, but I don't know Vasily well enough for the Captain's slot. I've known you for several years, and you're muggle enough to know how to hold a wrench." She grinned, and nudged Sprink, "Unlike this mangy mutt, who'd use it as a chew toy."

"Hey!" Sprink protested, "I've got to keep my teeth nice and sharp!" She stopped outside a shop, studying the display, then looked at Anne with an appraising eye. "Mate, that teal number would look good on you."

"You just want it for yourself," her sister said as they entered the shop.

------------------------

"As you lot are still underage," Karen said, "Pass me your bags, I'll do expansion and featherweight charms on them. Someone pass me Sprink and Tonk's bags, while they're deciding which jacket potato to get."

"I wonder what toppings they'll get?" Felicia mused.

"If her sister is anything like Sprink, something revolting," Amy Johnson replied.

------------------------

"Horseradish, mayonnaise, and Tabasco® sauce on a potato?" Amy asked, then looking at Mattie, "You know she's nutters. Raving nutters. I'm glad she's in your house, not mine."

"Her sister is worse," Karen said, looking at Tonk's two 'Super-grande' with everything potatoes. "A jumbo coke, too. How the bloody hell do you keep your figure?"

"An active lifestyle, chasing criminals," Tonks replied, taking a healthy bite. "We're still working on several very serious crimes, don'tcha know?"

"Like Malfoy's murder?" Amanda asked. "Good riddance to her. When you find them, pin a medal on them."

"What of the Crown's man?" Anne asked. "The one that groaned when Cassidy and I dids't take the stand?"

"He got his arse in a sling," Tonks reported, "Now, officially, you lot never heard this, you understand, but it was a beautiful bit of gossip. What happened..."

------------------------

"Okay, I am now officially ready to Have Fun," Mattie declared, with Sprink asking, "What, we aren't?"

"You know what I mean," she replied. "I think I'll buy something colorful, like... this scarf."

"Oh, bloody brilliant," Sprink said. "The only billionaire here, and she's spending a whole..." (she checked the tag) £3.00 on a scarf."

"Hey, I spent sixty pounds on a haircut!"

"On your green card," Karen said. "I dare you to walk up to that salesgirl at the till and pay for a three pound scarf with your black card. The one I saw in your wallet. If you do, I'll buy you... (she held up a colourful skirt) this."

Wayne checked the tag, then said, "Deal." Holding the inexpensive scarf, she patiently waited in queue, then handed over the scarf and dug out her wallet as the others edged closer.

The salesgirl blinked, "Ma'am, I've never seen a _black_ AMEX card. May I call my manager?" Wayne smiled and nodded, as a bell dinged, and an older woman came up. Paling, she asked, "Ma'am, do you have identification, please?" Wayne smiled and nodded as she passed over her passport, asking, "Would you prefer another card?"

"If you don't mind, ma'am," and with a sense of relief, accepted and processed her green card. As she walked past Karen with her receipt, she said "Size five, please," and took a seat on a bench outside. As Sprink joined her, she said, "And that's why I'm sending the thing back."

------------------------

"Oh, my stars and garters," Tonks said, watching a father walk by with his son. "That is one nice looking man," she added as they slowed to return the girls' look.

"The son 'tis most handsome," Anne agreed, watching them walk.

"I'll agree to that," Wayne said, reaching over to shove Tonk's shoulder, "You're seeing a certain flea-bitten history professor, you know."

"I can look..." Tonks replied.

------------------------


	10. 12 August – 18 August, 2001

A/N: Wow, a month since I updated! I had originally planned to have the last three weeks in one chapter, but when it got to be 75+ pages in NeoOfficeJ, I was convinced otherwise...

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.   
------------------------  
10: 12 August – 18 August, 2001   
------------------------  
**_Monday, August 13, 2001:  
New York City, United Nations Security Council Meeting: 13:42 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Mr. Paulson rolled his eyes as the French representative _finally_ finished his speech. The vote to authorize the Solar Guard as an international armed force now rested in the hands of the Security Council.

The chairman banged his gavel. "The chair now brings to the vote an authorization bill for the Solar Guard. How vote the members? The People's Republic of China?"

The Chinese representative stood, "The People's Republic abstains." '_No surprise there_,' Paulson thought.

"Columbia?"

"Columbia votes in support," the small man said without bothering to rise.

Paulson leaned forward as the chairman called "The Republic of France?" The price for French support had been to integrate the Solar Guard as a unit under French military control, indeed, the Frenchman's three hour speech was a rather long winded explanation as to why France was uniquely suited to command it. Paulson snorted to himself, '_Only if we want to surrender at the first shot_.'

"The Republic of France, in baffled dismay at the rejection of its most reasonable offer, must unfortunately vote 'Non'." A ripple went around the hall as the consequences of the French veto sank in, and Paulson stood, making his way to the exit.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, August 14, 2001:  
Gotham City, Wayne Manor, Gymnasium: 12:28 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Tomas waited, his visitor... was early! Spinning, he fired a stunner, only to see it miss his target.

"Very good, Mr. Ramirez, you almost had me there," Zatanna said with a smile. "You would have if I hadn't been using a precognition spell. It gives me a few seconds warning over your perimeter spell." She smiled, "Don't forget, you are taking steps others at Hogwarts do not even know about. We'll discuss this spell, and other combat spells today." Her eyes twinkled, "You can put one over on your brother Richard, eh?"

"He says I should not rely on my magic, Senorita," Tomas replied.

"Your magic is but one arrow in your quiver, young man," the mage replied. "Another is a fit mind and body. You've been running with Barbara?"

"Si," he replied. "I am still exhausted at the end of the five kilometers, though."

"You'll get there. The old saying about Rome not being built in a day comes to mind."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, August 14, 2001:  
London, Crown & Gander pub, private room: 17:26  
_**------------------------

Gerald (_never_ Jerry!) K. O'Neil entered the working class pub's meeting room. Normally, he would not have come, except as a favor to his grandfather, who had reminded him who had paid for Oxford. He spotted his grandfather just as the old man called to him, "Jerry! Kip a pint or two, eh?"

Gerald winced internally, but fetched a pint for his grandfather. Claiming a chair with his briefcase, he poured a cuppa for himself, then sat down, recognizing a familiar face. He nodded politely, "Ms. Hawking."

"Mr. O'Neil," she replied, "Let me introduce Mr. MacAdam, our CFO." He stood to shake the much shorter man's hand, who replied in a thick Scottish brogue, "Mr. O'Neil."

The tall, exotically beautiful dark skinned girl rapped her knuckles on the table. "May we proceed? Thank you." She swallowed nervously, "Ms. Hawking?"

Gerald made a mental note as Ms. Hawking smiled, "A word of tactical advice, Shernette, once you have control of a meeting, don't let it go. Tallgrass is not the only startup Arrowhead is working with ('_Arrowhead_!' Gerald thought, and sat up a bit straighter. '_That's where I've seen her_!'), so we're used to this." She cleared her throat, "This is an exploratory meeting between Arrowhead Investments and Tallgrass Designs, Ltd. Mr. MacAdam?"

"Aye, lassie. Nae, I see ye' are proposin' six plants: bamboo, cotton, flax, hemp, jute an' soybeans. Le' start wi' bamboo, an' how ye' plan to grow, harvest, an' process it intae cloth."

Shernette swallowed, "Thank you, Mr. MacAdam. What we're proposing is to have each plant species in a separate greenhouse. This allows us to breed true, reduce the possibility of disease or insect infestation, adjust the environment to suit each species, and if necessary limit pressure loss to one greenhouse." She swallowed nervously, "Also, if a disease wipes out a crop, it would hurt financially, but it wouldn't put us out of business."

She reached into her bag, passing out samples, "Bamboo, because it can be spun extremely fine, is what we propose as filters for both air and water reclamation, and as our 'sexy' cloth, like silk. This would be our marketing, our 'catwalk' cloth." She took a sip of tea as notes were made, "We plan to harvest a crop at the twenty meter mark, which on Earth is about every six weeks. However, because of the size and weight of the plants, we can't do a rotary hydroponics system like we can for soybeans, flax and cotton."

"'Tis goin' tae increase y' infrastructure costs, lassie," MacAdam objected.

"Yes, sir, it will. However, the largest greenhouse structures would be for the bamboo, at twenty meters high. Other plants are much shorter, jute grows to about four meters, kenaf to about three and a half meters."

"Why nae take y' crop a' four or five meters, then?" MacAdam asked.

"The fibers are not as strong at that point, it's still a young plant, whereas if we harvest at forty meters, we think we'll have handling problems," Shernette replied, steepling her hands. "Obviously, we don't know how these will grow under lunar gravity. We're making assumptions based on Earth gravity, we think they'll grow faster and have wider shoots, which is why we're going by size. They will also have light twenty four hours a day, which will also contribute to their growth. For now, all we can do is work out the care and processing of the plants, I'm certain there will be differences once we're up and running on the Moon."

She took a sip of tea, then continued, "We are thinking of harvesting some younger plants, but to use as furniture, instead. People will need tables and chairs," she added, rapping the table with her knuckles. People chuckled as she continued, "We haven't yet found anyone that's used to working with bamboo as furniture, which is why those plans are still tentative. In any case, the stalk is cut near the base, trimmed to a uniform length, and then dropped through a hole in the floor of the greenhouse down into the processing room. There's a flowchart on page B3 of the appendix."

As people turned pages, she continued, "The stem, or culm, is run through a lathe to even out the joints and remove the flowering buds. It is then run through a series of rollers to crush the stem, then soaked to remove the lignin, which has commercial use." Heads nodded at this, as Mr. MacAdam asked, "What applications, lassie?"

"I'm not a chemical engineer, but from what I understand, its used in concrete, water purification, and various types of dyes," she replied. He grunted as she continued, "Following along, the water is removed from the lignin and recycled, the stem is shredded and spun into yarn. The yarn can then be woven or dyed, and the scraps can be used to brew fuels like biodiesel."

Gerald raised a finger, "I thought yarn was wool, and came from sheep."

"It is, sir, but in textile manufacturing, the threads that are woven are called yarn. Thread that is used to sew cloth together are called thread," she said with a smile. "It can be confusing. In any case, the yarn is then woven, using a computer-driven loom, and any finishing is done, the product is then packed and shipped."

"Y' specified three o' these looms, lassie," MacAdam said. "C' ye tell us why?"

"The base model, sir, one that an operator needs to load and unload the yarn onto. We figure that one machine will be occupied full time with making the solar panels for the power satellites, which will need to be sewn together from smaller segments, if the designs I've seen are accurate. I don't know of a loom that has a hundred meter width, even a five meter is unusual. The last one I knew of was for the Royal Navy's sailmakers. I think there's one in a museum..."

"Y'have y' answer there, lassie," MacAdam said. "Sailmakers. I see plenty of weekend sailors on th' rivers and lochs, why nae adapt their equipment, an' sew panels o' cloth together?"

Gerald asked, "Please clarify for me how cloth is used for solar power."

Shernette hesitated, "It's something one of my sorority mates did for her thesis at university. You seal a canvas like an oil painting, then deposit different chemicals on it with an airbrush, like making a computer chip. You would connect the wiring through grommets in the cloth, and stretch it on a frame. She did manage to get a voltage from it, but it wasn't terribly efficient. She charged a twelve volt battery, and therefore had a proof of concept, though."

She took another fortifying sip of tea, "Also, since you need to design for solar power instead of catching the wind, you could use a rougher, stronger cloth like burlap instead of canvas sailcloth."

Gerald added, "You also need to determine if you can fold or roll the panel, and have it still function on delivery. There's nothing unusual about shipping restrictions and conditions."

Shernette was scribbling notes as MacAdam said, "If there be loom models that will automatically load yarn, t'will save you time, lassie, w' ye balance against the higher cost of a dedicated machine. Y' were figurin' labor costs at naething to have someone load and unload yarn. Tha' tis wrong, even if it only take a few seconds tae do it. F' a small machine tha' y' dedicate to job lots, y' figure tha' labor intae the quote." He leaned forward, "Aye, machinery is a capital expense, which y' depreciate, so y' go wi' the best fit for your conditions. In y' case, y' short of personnel, so y' automate wherever y' can." He looked about, "Any more aboot bamboo?" Heads shook, and he said, "Let's move on tae cotton, then, lassie."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 15, 2001:  
Warsaw, Babice airfield, Arrowhead hangers: 08:29 (GMT +1)  
_**------------------------

"Good morning, Miss Bundy!" Casimir said. "I am assistant to Vasily, he is in Moscow at the moment, his daughter is expecting. Did you have a pleasant flight?"

"About normal," Karen said as he picked up two of her bags. "Did you receive my suit specifications?"

"We did," he replied, "We would ask a kindness, that you repeat them with our new laser mapper. It should match to within a few millimeters, if we have calibrated it correctly." She looked at him, and he shrugged, "Nothing we have not done, the only real danger is if the subject is foolish enough to ignore the protective goggles. We cannot, unfortunately engineer for human stupidity."

"Very true," Karen agreed. "That's why we have solicitors."

------------------------

She was a little nervous about this, but Karen resolutely folded her bra, and set it on the pile of clothes in the corner of the small, cool room. She adjusted the goggles over her eyes, then slapped the large red button. As the voice counted down from ten, she stepped onto the small circular platform, and stretched a bit. "Initiating laser scan," the voice said, and some horrible disco music started as a panel slid around to cover the opening as Karen started to move.

------------------------

"That is the most horrible music," the technician told her partner as she watched the wireframe drawing dance on her screen. The figure flashed green, and she touched her microphone, "Thank you, Miss Bundy. The scan is complete, come out when you're ready." The display blanked, and her male partner said, "We could at least mute the sound out here."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 15, 2001:  
Washington DC, White House, Oval Office: 08:29 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

"Mr. President, your eight thirty with the National Science Adviser and her party is here," the intercom informed Lex Luthor.

He grumbled, extracting the file folder he hadn't had a chance to read yet, and thumbed the switch, ordering, "Send her in!"

The NSA, a tall, elegant black woman escorted several others in, who looked around for a place to sit as Luthor read the folder. She cleared her throat, and he held up one finger. Closing the folder, he said, "Well?"

"Mr. President," CalTech's president started, "We'd like you to reconsider your stance with Miss Wayne and her starship..."

"Why should I do that?" he snapped. "That ship and it's technology is crucial to maintaining the technical edge over others."

"That's just it, sir," Harvard's president said. "Miss Wayne has embargoed the technology from the United States while you hold that position. She is under the belief, mistaken I'm sure, that you don't intend to share the wealth. As it is..."

"As it is, she is an American citizen, and that ship should have been handed over to my control as soon as she stepped off it. She signs it over to me, or I will make her pay for her insolence."

"Sir, we're getting some technology transfer through our agreements with foreign schools like Cambridge," MIT's president said. "For the first time, we're having a brain drain, with our best and brightest going to Europe to have hands on experience. We're increasing our summer programs abroad, but..."

"But nothing," Luthor snapped. "My decision is final, and this meeting is over." He stood, "Thank you for your time," as the Secret Service agent opened the door, adding, "Wharton, stay a moment." The NSA stood as the others filed out, then Luthor snapped, "Wharton, you're fired for wasting my time. I want you out by noon." He glanced at the Secret Service agent, "See to it."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, August 16, 2001:  
Hogwarts, Transfiguration classroom: 09:25  
_**------------------------

"Really, Miss Wayne, it can't be that difficult," Professor Chang said, blowing her hair from her eyes in frustration. "You're simply changing a teapot to a tortoise. Miss Bundy got it on the first go."

Mattie closed her eyes and counted to ten, again. True, Anne had gotten her teapot changed, although it still bore a resemblance to fine china, and the poor tortoise's head was immobile. It was not a happy tortoise, but still, she had done it. Mattie's on the other hand, was definitely NOT a tortoise, but instead resembled a rather fat white saucer with five tiny stumps where the legs and head might be. Professor Chang waved her wand, resetting the teapot, and Mattie tried again, asking, "When would we ever need to do something like this?"

"Better to know than not, eh?" Cho replied. "Besides, it's been on the OWL since the sixteen hundreds." She had some sympathy, the girl was obviously trying hard, she simply had trouble with spellcasting.

Wayne was slowly beating her head against the desk in frustration, then looked up and asked, "Don't you find this exhausting?"

"Certainly not," Cho replied. "By Merlin, I'm going to make certain you pass your Transfiguration exam, Miss Wayne!"

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 17, 2001:  
LEO orbit: 09:50 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Welcome to space, everyone!" Casimir said. "Please make certain you are securely tethered, and let us start unloading. Alfred will return to Warsaw for a second load while we start assembly. Miss Bundy, you're partnered with me."

Karen looked down as she was connected to Casimir with a ten meter lanyard, seeing the Earth rotate beneath her feet. She confided, "I just want to yell, 'I'm in space!'"

Casimir chuckled, "So did I when I first went up with Vasily. Don't worry about this, we're putting the framework together, just bolting together beams and such. The key thing to remember is to take it gently. Others will be doing the power systems, solar panels and such. We just need to match ends A with B, and bolt them together. Setting three on your wrench, please. Not too tight."

------------------------

"They're getting ahead of us!" Karen said jokingly, pointing at a crew that was screwing down decking.

"Ah, but we're doing the real work," Casimir said, as Karen maneuvered a section of truss into place. "Once we have the decking finished, the power and environmental people can get their equipment in. Then we close it all up and see where the leaks are."

"What leaks?" Karen asked, catching a wandering nut as she finished a four-way connection.

"There are ALWAYS leaks," Casimir said. "The key point is not to have large ones."

------------------------

"This was much more exciting in the days of rivets," one ironworker mused. "Then you caught rivets in a leather glove while you were two hundred meters above the city. One slip, and you either dropped a red-hot rivet on someone's head, or fell to your death. Here, BAH! You're two hundred kilometers up," he said as he looked over toward Karen. "You've done well today, girl. Keep it up, we'll vote you an honorary member of the union."

"What union?"

"Orbital Ironworkers local 100, girlie. Registered in Warsaw."

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 17, 2001:  
Gotham City, Downtown public library: 12:04 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

Edward Nigma whistled as he strolled into the library, where he signed up for the usual half hour of free computer use. He flipped through a reference tome until the librarian called, "Mr. DeGama? Machine four, please."

Logging into his email account, he automatically deleted the spam, stopping short at one particular message – '_My, my. Little Mattie Wayne. What can she want with her Uncle Edward_?' he wondered. Clicking on it, he read, '_At the very least a holiday in London, expenses paid. Most unusual, with 'some risk of life' involved._' Clicking the 'Reply' button, he typed an acceptance of her offer, fishing out ten cents for the printout and wondering, '_Now where did I put my passport_?'

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 17, 2001:  
New York City, Two World Trade, 89th floor: 13:36 (GMT -5)  
_**------------------------

Maria Cortez smiled as she dialed, it was her turn to pick the restaurant for their wedding anniversary. As the reservation line picked up, she heard "Windows on the World."

"Hello, I'd like to make a reservation, please. Eight pm for two, on September eleventh, under Cortez."

"Certainly, ma'am. Is this any special occasion?"

"Our fifteenth anniversary."

She heard tapping sounds, "Very well, ma'am. You're confirmed with two persons on the eleventh at eight under the name Cortez. Happy anniversary."

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 17, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead's lobby: 10:25 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

The security guard watched as the stiff, tartan-clad Scotswoman strode up to his desk, informing him, "I am Headmistress McGonagall. I wish to see Ms. Amy Johnson or Ms. Wayne. I have a matter regarding their schooling."

He swallowed, remembering his own school days, and picked up his phone, replying, "One moment, please, ma'am. I'll see if they're available."

------------------------

"Ms. McGonagall, if you'll sign for the pass, Ms. Johnson will be down in a moment," the guard said, speaking a bit loudly as the Headmistress was inspecting a cutaway model of a lunar lifeboat. She nodded briefly, then signed his clipboard as the lift 'dinged', Ms. Johnson appearing.

------------------------

"And how are you doing, Miss Johnson?" Minerva inquired in the lift. "Are you still dividing your time between Arrowhead and..."

"Greywolf, ma'am. What was this about our schooling? This is my year before NEWTs, I'm doing as much studying as I can, as are Mattie and Anne..."

"I am certain you are, however it occurred to me in a conversation with Mr. Griplink that you might have neglected an important social aspect to business." The lift 'dinged' open at the fifth floor, Minerva raising her eyebrow at the directory sign on the wall. "I was under the impression that we were going to your office, not the gymnasium."

"We are, but the executive offices aren't listed as a security precaution," Amy said. She waved her pass at a nondescript door as a fellow came out another door wearing a tracksuit. He nodded to her as the door unlocked, she said, "The executive staff gives interviews, and meets in the City with bankers and solicitors, so we wear skirts and suits. Everyone else is casual wear. When Greywolf's building gets off the ground, I'll be moving my primary office across the street to their building." They walked past a large glass-fronted room filled with blinking lights and seeming miles of cable. Amy paused, gesturing, "Our communications people are working with some really exotic technologies, ma'am. One of the things they left on the moon a few months ago was a transceiver. We're trying to get FTL communications, so we can reduce the signal lag, and make it a directional signal. It will give us a great tactical advantage, we know it can be done, but it's causing our boffins to pull out their hair." She gestured, "My office is over here, near Mattie's and Mr. MacAdam's.

"A fellow Scot?" Minerva wondered. "Perhaps he should sit in," she suggested.

Amy nodded, "Very highly recommended by Mr. Griplink, a relative of his," she explained, raising an eyebrow.

Minerva nodded, '_This should be easier than I thought_,' she reflected, as Amy steered her into a visitor's chair, then left to fetch Ms. Wayne and Mr. MacAdam. Minerva looked about the cubicle, this was the first time she had ever been in one. There was a cute stuffed grey wolf puppy, and the usual muggle photos of Miss Johnson's family, together with one showing Miss Johnson and Mr. Slater together at last year's Halloween ball.

"They do make a cute couple," Miss Wayne said from the cubicle's opening, over the ringing of phones, and Minerva turned to see her leaning in the doorway. "As do you and Mr. Morton," Minerva replied.

Miss Wayne got an odd expression on her face as Amy took her seat behind the desk, coughed, then said, "Yes, well, I'd like to introduce Mr. MacAdam, our Chief Financial Officer. You said this was in regard to our education?"

"Yes," Minerva said as she settled herself, arranging her long skirt. "Not all business is done in boardrooms. Indeed, my understanding is that a great deal of what is discussed in the boardroom is previously decided upon..."

"Tha' links!" MacAdam said. "Thank ye, lassie, for sayin' wha I have nae f' months. I've said these two should take up th' grand game, an' possibly e' tennis, but nae, she's a blind spot there." He cocked his head, "Y' up f' a game o' two y'self, lassie?"

"I _am_ a McGonagall, sir, we have always found time for a hole or two." She looked at Mattie, "Your father once told me that he was proud of his reputation of 'the worst swing in Gotham,' it had done more for his business than anything he did in formal meetings." She looked over her spectacles, "I believe he would approve of your lessons."

She shifted, "As for you, Miss Johnson, you are approaching the same position with Greywolf. That is why I have sent emails to both Mr. Slater and Mr. Morton regarding lessons. We do have a driving range at Hogwarts." She looked at Sev, "Mr. MacAdam, why don't we kidnap these two for the afternoon, get them properly kitted out, and then do a round? Will you partner with Miss Wayne, while I partner Miss Johnson?"

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 17, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 07:24 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

Maggie Morton turned on the computer to get her email while she got dressed for work. There was a 'ping' as she finished rolling up her hose, she looked at the return address – Minerva McGonagall.

_17 August, 2001  
To: Mrs. Maggie Morton  
From: Minerva McGonagall  
Subject: Arthur's future_

_Dear Mrs. Morton, _

_Over the past few years I have noticed that your son Arthur, while doing well academically, is something of a social loner. While a great many people in history have been such, I feel this may hurt his prospects in the future, especially if he continues to be linked to Miss Wayne. _

_He has always been one to challenge himself, and while basketball may provide the needed exercise for good health, it does not provide the social context he needs to succeed. Therefore, I propose golf lessons, as I am doing with other students. This will provide an adequate challenge, as it is 'him against the course', while providing the needed social context. _

_A good beginning set of clubs can be had for about two hundred fifty pounds, and we will be refurbishing the indoor and the outdoor driving ranges here at Hogwarts. _

_I am an experienced golfer myself, as are several of the staff, and can assist the three of yours when they arrive. _

_I am awaiting your reply, and seeing Arthur, Julia and meeting William again in September.  
Minerva McGonagall_

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 17, 2001:  
London, London Golf & Country Club: 13:10 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"One ae th' key things tae remember, lassie, is tha' y' neaever ha' a perfect swing. E' th' pros are always practicin' their swing. Nae, y' want tae keep th' line o' y' shoulders aimed a' th' point y' want tae hit." MacAdam said.

"We certainly are," the club pro said. "Let me adjust your grip there," she told Amy, as MacAdam did the same for Matte.

"I'm left handed," Amy said. "Does that matter?"

"It gives you a choice," the pro replied. "You can either swing left, or swing right. Most lefties like myself swing right, even if we're extremely dominant. I'd wait to buy clubs until you've tried both and made a decision."

"How much is a good starter set of clubs?" Mattie asked.

"Two fifty to three hundred pounds," the pro replied, "Let me take a look at your swing, please."

------------------------

"Professor, we've been..." Amy said, when Minerva raised a finger. "We are not in school, nor at work, please call me Minerva."

Amy glanced at Mattie, then at Sev, and continued, "Very well, Minerva, we have been discussing a bit of business and wondered if Hogwarts would be interested."

"A five, I think," Minerva said, then stepped back as Amy swung.

Sev winced, "Ach, a nasty slice, lassie. Dinnae worry, y'll get better."

"I hope we do," Mattie said as Sev adjusted her grip, reminding her, "Eye on the ball, lassie." With a 'thwack', her ball went into the woods to join Amy's. "That's what, forty something on the third hole?" she asked with a grin. "Think we'll break five hundred?"

"I asked the same questions myself when I started," a fellow said with a chuckle. "Might we play through?" Mattie and Amy took a few steps back, and he placed his ball on the black tee. With a 'thwack', it sailed straight down the fairway, and Amy groaned. He smiled, and produced a card, "Give us a call if you want to play and need another couple."

A woman chuckled, "It took him a while to get that good. We've coached a lot of youngsters. It's a good way to make contacts when you're just starting out in the business world."

"Well, then we should reciprocate," Amy said, and passed her business card over. Mattie dug one of hers out, and passed it over as well. The wife raised her eyebrow, "I don't think I've heard of Greywolf Transport, Ltd."

"We're a startup, we're doing cislunar transport," Amy said as the husband raised an eyebrow at Mattie's card.

"I do hope you're planning a course on the moon," he said. "It would be most challenging."

"We hadn't considered it, but it's still early," she replied. "Perhaps you should talk to Mr. MacAdam, our CFO," Mattie added. Hands were shaken, and the money men stood aside to talk as the others played through.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 18, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 08:31 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"I _am_ antisocial," Arthur said.

"Not as much as you were," his mother said. "No, dear. Professor McGonagall said you were a loner, and thinks you should socialize more. She suggested golf lessons, and with you and Mattie, I think that would be a good idea."

"Quite a bit of business does get done on golf courses," his father said. "We've got our clubs around somewhere. Maggie, why don't I dust them off, and we can go over to Raymond Memorial." He looked over the breakfast table, "Hank, what about you and Misty? Interested?"

The eldest son took a sip of coffee as he thought, then said, "Thanks anyway Dad, but Misty and I were going to study. She's got a quiz coming up on silicates, and I need to go over torsions again. Besides, we can get free lessons at the university. Wouldn't be a bad idea for Arthur, though, and Bill can go over his first-year books with us."

"Well, in that case, Arthur why don't you and Julie go change into some shorts and polo shirts, and your mother and I will take you for lessons."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 18, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Federal surveillance: 10:03 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"Where are they going?" Susan Ellis asked from across the street as she looked through binoculars as the Mortons loaded up a station wagon. "Crap, golf clubs. When did they develop an interest in golf? Anyone here play golf besides me?" she asked over the radio.

"Perkins and Elmer do," one of the spotters replied.

"Hopefully they can tail them, if we can figure out which of about forty golf courses they're going to in this town. Did someone replace the transmitter on that station wagon?" she asked.

"She parks in Faculty parking," someone said, adding, "We're allegedly students, we don't have access. Security almost caught me when I tried yesterday."

Susan sighed, "Can we at least go in and replace that screwy transmitter in the bedroom?"

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 18, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 12:13 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

Bill sat up with a jerk, "Intruder," he said. "Second floor bathroom window."

"You think they'd at least have the courtesy to wait for night," Hank said as he grabbed a baseball bat sitting next to the door.

------------------------

"Well, well. Hello, Ms. Wilson, if that is your real name," Hank said, reaching over and pulling the black stocking cap off the slim, black-clad figure. "I thought burglary was a nighttime occupation. Now what do we do with you?" She glared up at him through her blonde hair, unable to move a muscle as she was frozen, half in and out of the window.

"Somehow I don't think she's a fellow university student," Misty said, as she ran her hands over the still figure, searching for and removing equipment. Taking the camera that Teela handed her, she shot photos, then detached an equipment belt. Handing the camera and equipment off, she rolled the stocking cap back over their guest's eyes as a blindfold, asking, "Now what do we do with her?"

"Go?" Susan Ellis managed to force out. "Forget?"

"Forget a felony by a neighbor?" Misty replied. "We couldn't show our faces at the neighborhood potlucks again. No, I think we'll just let you stay there, in that position, until later. After a few hours, the muscle cramping will encourage truth, I think."

Hank rummaged in the medicine cabinet as Bill added, "Don't try to talk, Mrs. Wilson. It reduces your available air." Misty rolled the mask up, inserting ear plugs, then rolling an elastic bandage over her prisoner's ears and eyes before rolling the black mask back in place. "We don't want you peeking if we have to use the facilities," she said, then ushering the others out, switching the light off and closing the door.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 18, 2001:  
Columbus, Ohio, Raymond Memorial Golf Course, practice tees: 12:21 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

Bill Morton's cell phone rang, he checked the caller ID, "Yes, Hank, what's up?" he asked as he stepped away from where the pro was correcting Arthur's grip. "I see. No, I think you're right, just leave her there for now. Good. I don't know, just a minute." He stepped over to where the pro was with Julie, and said, "Arthur, can you talk to Hank?"

"Sure, dad." He accepted the phone, listened, then said, "Email them from my account to Mrs. Grayson. The passphrase is 'Potter is a drunk', she'll be able to identify her. Make sure you capitalize the 'P', ok? Need us back there?" He nodded to himself, then passed the phone back to his dad.

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 18, 2001:  
Gotham City, Clocktower: 12:36 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"Well, well, well, hello Ms. Susan Ellis," Barbara cackled as the FBI personnel dossier scrolled before her. "So you're team lead on this little mission, eh?" She cracked her knuckles and said, "Who are you working with? Shall we find out?"

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 18, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home: 20:39 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

Susan slowly panted in the August heat. Wearing a black bodysuit for what was supposed to be a quick in-and-out job of replacing a failed transmitter, she was caught somehow motionless, left leg awkwardly braced on the outside ledge as her right foot was on the shingles, her gloved hands on a steam radiator inside the bathroom. The damned earplugs and bandage prevented her from seeing or hearing anything, she had no idea how long she'd been there, or would be, and her muscles were screaming in pain. What was worst was her bladder, she had no control over voluntary muscles, she couldn't even pee in her pants! '_I shouldn't have drunk all that coffee_!' she kept telling herself. '_If I even have a job after this monumental screw-up_,' she added.

Faintly hearing a noise, she could suddenly breathe easier, and could move her head, but not the rest of her body. She felt hands removing the earplugs, but leaving her blindfolded. "Hello, Ms. Ellis. May I call you Susan?"

'_Crap_!' she told herself. She recognized the voice of Bill Morton, who asked, "Are you feeling better?"

"This is torture," she groaned, "How did you do it?"

"Susan, aside from searching you, by a female I might add, we haven't laid a finger on you. After all, you're the one that was caught in burglary of an occupied dwelling, and with burglary tools. Those are felonies, and all I need to do is to call 911 and report it. Even if you get out of it with your FBI connections, your career is ruined. All that time in the Air Force, and the North Forks police department, where you made detective, down the tubes. Washed up at thirty five, even if you look twenty, and you'll be lucky to get a job waiting tables. Now, can we dispense with the bull?"

"You've got me by the short and curlies, Bill," she admitted to her surprise, and he chuckled. "What do you want?"

"Honesty," he said. "What's your mission? What relationship do you have with Marvin Patterson, your supposed husband?" She heard pages turn, and the click of a ballpoint pen. She took a breath and started to talk.

------------------------

"So what do I get out of this mess?" Susan asked.

"Our limited co-operation, and your career," Bill said. "We replaced the transmitter half an hour ago for you, you had to hide in a closet for several hours while one of the girls took a nap. Teela is a light sleeper, so you had to wait until she made a head call. This window isn't visible from the street, and that's what one of the girls reported for you. So, while delayed, your mission was a success, your career is safe, and we have a possible friend in the FBI."

"You've got other friends, I've noticed. One that wears a red cape," she replied.

"One doesn't always need to call in the battleships when a SEAL will do," Bill replied.

"That's true," she replied. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Certainly you do," Bill said. "We can replace your equipment, and call the cops, where you've got the burglary charges, or we release the capture field, you put your equipment back on, and Mrs. Wilson continues on with her life and studies at Ohio State. How are your grades, by the way?"

"You're a parent, Morton," she said with a snort. "We have an arrangement with the university." She thought for a minute, then said, "Deal, but I can't shake on it."

"You'll be able to in a minute, but we'll have to replace the ear plugs," he said. "Oh, two of the streetlights have suffered mysterious failures. I'm sure the city will fix them eventually."

"Yes, we know about government efficiency," she said with a chuckle. "Are we still invited to next week's potluck?"

"Of course, Mrs. Wilson, why wouldn't you be?" She felt hands on her head again.

------------------------

Julie waited outside the door, grinning to herself as she listened to the cursing. She had placed a couple of small sticking spells, one on the elastic bandage and one on the zipper pull. That meant their uninvited guest couldn't remove the bandage, leaving her deaf and blind, nor could she pull the zipper down her back, and was trapped in her bodysuit until she could cut it off. Once away from her body heat, it would work perfectly, but until then, she couldn't use the toilet that she desperately needed to. Her equipment lay on the floor, the bathroom door was locked, and the guys were outside playing a game of pickup basketball with the neighbors. '_Break into MY house_,' Julie smirked to herself.

------------------------


	11. 19 August – 25 August, 2001

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.   
------------------------  
11: 19 August – 25 August, 2001   
------------------------  
**_Sunday, August 19, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, Lobby: 07:15 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Wearing a muted green tie, Edward Nigma approached the security desk, where he informed the fellow, "I am Mr. Nigma, I have an appointment with Ms. Wayne."

The security fellow consulted his computer, and smiled, "I'm sorry, guv, but one of the parties to your meeting is running late. You can either wait upstairs, or there's a tea shop right next door. We'll buy you a cuppa, shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

"I believe I shall wait next door."

"Very good, sir, if I might make a copy of your ID, and just give this coupon to the girl next door." The security guard accepted his passport, making a quick photocopy, then returning it and stamping the coupon. Edward paused, working his way around a couple staring at a long tube of lunar soil running the length of the lobby.

------------------------

'_Impressive security_' Edward thought as a pair of beefy guards politely asked for his passport, comparing it to his photo pass. Another swept a hand held metal detector over his torso, while the fourth opened the door. '_Who do they have in here, the Queen_?' he wondered, shaking hands with Mattie, who mouthed '_Later_' at him. He saw another woman, turned, and saw the reason, '_Not quite the Queen, but close_,' as he recognized the Royal.

"Lady Sarah," he said politely, who offered her hand. "I didn't know you would be here."

"We have a great deal of interest in Arrowhead, and the Solar Guard," she replied. "I am here as a bona-fide, and also as the chair of the Guard's oversight board, Mr. Nigma. What do you know of the Guard?"

"Beyond the news reports, not much," he said.

"I am aware of your history, Mr. Nigma, so I will not encumber this meeting with explanations. Due to the French veto in the Security Council, we are unable to authorize the Guard as a proper transnational military force. Therefore, as Arrowhead is a British firm, it falls upon Her Majesty's Government to resolve the problem. With the express consent of Parliament, we have a waiver of the 1856 Paris Treaty Amendment."

Edward sat back in thought for a few moments, then shook his head, "I am ashamed to admit it, but I am not familiar with that treaty, or the Amendment."

"Not surprising, the United States never endorsed it, although they did agree to abide by it. Perhaps this will help," Sarah said, sliding a file folder over to him. It had his name on it, Edward was interested to see, as well as the stamp 'Most Secret'.

------------------------

"Very interesting," he admitted. "Why should I accept?"

"Aside from a dismissal of outstanding charges against you through Interpol," Mattie replied, "I would think this would be the greatest challenge of your life, the greatest puzzle of them all."

"And in order to do so, I become a pirate," he replied. "Yo ho ho, thirty pieces of silver and all that."

"Not at all, Mr. Nigma," Lady Sarah said. "The Letter of Marque we would issue to you is very specific, and relates to intelligence matters. It only takes effect outside the heliopause, outside the orbit of Pluto, you would not be authorized use of weapons inside that border. Usage of weapons inside that border would indeed categorize you as a pirate, and the traditional death penalty still applies." She smiled thinly, "Outside that border, we would provide you with funding to purchase a small starship, sufficient for you and your partner."

"My partner, what's with that?" Edward asked.

"As you may recall, there were several slaves we liberated a few weeks ago," Mattie said. "Of these, several wish to travel the stars, but cannot do it as slaves. They will therefore act as your 'native guide', so to speak, acting the part of your slave, collecting intelligence that you cannot, and relying on your protection as their 'master'. Partner is an apt term, as you must rely on each other."

Edward looked askance at the two, "How many agents are we talking, here?"

"You do not need to know that," the third woman spoke for the first time.

"Good," Edward said. He regarded her, musing aloud, "Not introduced by name, a private meeting on intelligence matters, international participation, olive complexion, black hair and eyes... I do believe we have the Mossad present."

"You are wasted on crime," she replied, regarding him over her steepled fingers, index fingers touching the tip of her nose. There was silence, and then she said, "You may call me Judith."

"Lady Judith," he said, with a polite nod. "Assuming I agree, who would know of this?"

"An open-ended question, good," Judith replied. "Of your participation, the four of us, and your partner. Mission parameters, I would brief you and your partner. These two," and she gestured at Lady Sarah and Mattie, "would not know. The commander of the Guard force would have a sealed dossier that would be opened on a coded command from you, in an emergency."

He tapped the folder, "Excellent. May I keep this overnight?"

"We would prefer that it not leave this room," Lady Sarah said. "Should you agree, you would of course have your own copy. Perhaps you would like to think it over, and contact us with any questions. I believe you have Ms. Wayne's information?"

"Not her cell number," he replied, and Mattie pulled a business card out, scribbling a number on the back as Lady Sarah stood, offering her hand.

------------------------  
**_Sunday, August 19, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, Lobby: 13:10 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Ma'am, the thirteen-hundred appointment is here," the security guard said, adding, "She's clean, no weapons."

"She IS a weapon," Lady Sarah said, and Mattie tapped her right hand, Judith taking this all in silently, through obsidian eyes. The three of them stood, as Lady Shiva entered the room, the door closed behind her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Woosan," Lady Sarah began. "What do you know of the Solar Guard?"

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 22, 2001:  
Port Columbus International Airport, Departures: 05:30 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"We'll be fine, mom," Arthur said, as his mother hugged him. "A simple flight over, Ms. Hawking will pick us up, we'll bunk with her for a week until we take the train to school. What could go wrong?"

"We'll send you an email when we arrive at Heathrow," Julie said. "I'm sure we can find a public access Internet. Worst case, we'll send one from Mattie's house."

"Now Bill," his father told him, "I want you to do what Arthur and Julie say, study hard, and have fun in school." He looked up at the boarding announcement, then gave his youngest a brief hug.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 22, 2001:  
London, Heathrow International Airport, Queen's Customs: 14:10 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Julie spied Ms. Hawking waiting behind the barrier, and waved at her. She grinned when Mattie's aunt waved back, and poked her brothers, "Ms. Hawking's here."

"Cool," Bill said.

------------------------

"So what have you three been up to?" Sheila asked as they walked through the terminal toward the parking garage. "Any more strange visitors?"

"No," Julie admitted. "I did pull a small prank on that visitor, though." She looked around, then said quietly, "I put a small sticking charm on the back zipper of her bodysuit."

Sheila stopped, eyeing Julie, then admitting, "That's evil, Julie. EVIL." She smirked, "I wish I could have seen it."

"We have the video," Bill said. "We brought a copy, and mailed a copy to Mrs. Grayson, to thank her for her help."

"I think you'll fit in well at Hogwarts, Bill," Sheila said with a grin. "Julie, you said you wanted to send a message home?" She motioned to a cybercafe, "Why don't we stop over there, we'll get something to drink while you do that."

------------------------

"I'm home!" Sheila heard, and called, "In the kitchen!" A few minutes later, Mattie appeared, dropping her bookbag and potions kit in the hall, and saying, "Hi, guys. Safe flight?"

"Boring," Bill said. "I should have brought something to read."

"We warned you," Arthur said, giving Mattie a brief hug and asking, "How was your potions final?"

"Weird," she said, smoothing down her school skirt and claiming a chair. "Anne and I were all set to brew these hideous potions, and he asks us to prepare plant infusions. I had _c.arabica_ – he wanted me to brew coffee!" She shook her head, "I swear, I will never understand that man."

"That shouldn't have taken you this long," Sheila said.

"It didn't," Mattie said. "He gave us a lecture, and dismissed us about noon. I had lunch at the Cauldron, then stopped by Arrowhead and caught up on some things, and here I am." She glanced at her aunt, "Uncle Eddie accepted our offer."

"I don't want to know," Arthur said, Sheila replying, "No, you don't. Only the _Daimyo_ over there knows the details."

"Not even all of those," Mattie said. "I don't have 'need to know'."

"What's a _Daimyo_?" Bill asked.

"Japanese title," Sheila said with a grin. "Basically, it means 'warlord'." She nudged her niece, "Oh, _Daimyo_, why don't you go grab a shower, change, and we'll go get some pizza before the thundering herds get out of work? I put Julie in with you."

------------------------

Taking a seat on the bed, Julie asked, "I hope you don't mind, but I stole some space in your closet." She eyed her temporary roomie, "Why do you have swords in there, and more out here?"

"You didn't play with them, I hope?" Mattie said as she removed graphite knives from her boots, followed onto the dresser by a pair of butterfly swords. Reaching behind her back, she withdrew a pair of weapons before pulling off her jacket.

"I remember those from a movie," Julie said.

"Yeah, we laughed at it. She didn't use them correctly," Mattie said, flashing through some movements with her left hand. "What do you expect for Hollywood? It's called a sai, it's Okinawan. Be careful with it," she added as she flipped it in her hand, offering it to Julie, then continued undressing.

"Why don't you clank when you walk?" Julie asked with a grin.

"I know how to walk," she replied, tapping her forehead, "The most dangerous weapon we possess." She tossed a sheath to Julie, then said, a bit more lighthearted, "I feel more comfortable with a weapon or two close at hand."

"I can see that," she replied, adding, "So when do we get to see Arrowhead?" as Mattie removed her boots.

Popping out her wand, she used cleaning and polishing charms on the boots before setting them neatly in the closet. Unzipping her skirt, she folded it and tossed it on the bed next to Julie before answering, "Later, ok? I don't want to get dressed up in a business suit and skirt today, it was weird enough going in dressed as a schoolgirl." Pulling off her school tie, she added, "Maybe this weekend? It's just an office, after all."

"But it's the MOON," Julie said, "It's _space_!"

"That stuff is mostly in the lobby," she replied, tossing her blouse on the bed, and reaching behind to unzip her bodysuit. "By the way, I've got an extra wand holster, think Bill could use it?"

------------------------

"Y'know, there's something I thought was a bit... weird when we came to visit for Christmas a couple years ago," Julie said. Mattie raised her eyebrow in the mirror, but said nothing as she continued to brush out her hair. Julie continued, "There's no clutter, either here or in Gotham. It doesn't look, well, lived in."

"We do have a couple of house elves there," Mattie said. "As for here, a place for everything, you know." She continued to brush her hair, "Your place is neat enough."

"It doesn't look laid out with a ruler," Julie said. "Is your dorm at Hogwarts like this? Ours always has a pair of someone's tights thrown over a chair, and uncapped bottles of nail polish, and books with a quill holding their place."

"My part's neat," Mattie said slowly, glancing in the mirror. "I'm always dumping Sprink's laundry at the foot of her bed for the elves, because she gets undressed as she walks, leaving a trail to the bathroom. Connie has a habit of sleeping on top of the covers, even in winter, and she doesn't put her laundry away for a day or two, so she'll sleep on a pile of laundry. Anne has a portrait of her family over her desk..."

"Lots of people have photos," Julie objected, "It's not unusual."

Mattie shook her head. "Portrait. This was done in the fourteenth century, she shrunk it and brought it with her. She gets scrolls once a week that they send to her through Professor Oldridge and Professor McGonagall, and she's got a journal that she writes replies in." She put down her hairbrush, "She's a genius, you know? Comparable to Einstein. She'd love to be able to write back, even once. She has these really arcane discussions with Professor Flitwick about causality and math that they get so lost in, unlike us mere mortals." She unconsciously arranged her hairbrush as she asked, "Now then, what about your Gryff dorm? Spill."

"A couple of the girls are experimenting with makeup," Julie said, and Mattie nodded, "So is Sprink. Go on."

"Kenner is _always_ cold. She'll wear sweatshirts to bed, and thick woolen socks, even in summer. Pomfrey's checked her out, and says there's nothing wrong, but she'd build a fire in the middle of the room if she could. She uses up all the hot water in the showers, she'll get all six of them running at once and stand in the middle for the heat. Susan, who was a firstie last year..."

"Susan? Oh, duh, different Susan. Sorry," Mattie said. "Our Susan is still in shock from being Sorted into the Den," she said with a grin. "Her family's been Huffies for like four hundred years. Anyway, sorry to interrupt." There was a knock on the door, Bill's voice called, "You two ready yet? We're hungry!"

"Be down in a sec!" Julie called.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 22, 2001:  
London, Soho, Guido's Italian Pizzeria: 16:52 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"Good afternoon, Ms. Hawking," Maria said. "Your usual table?"

"We have some house guests, something a bit larger, please." As they were lead to a booth, Arthur hung back, "Ms. Hawking, can I have a minute with you later? It's nothing urgent, but I'd like your opinion."

"Certainly, want Mattie there?"

"I'd rather not, please."

------------------------

"Anchovies?" Mattie shuddered. "Sorry. I'll stick with a veggie pizza."

After Maria left with the orders, Arthur mentioned, "You eat fish at school."

"Not anchovies, though. It reminds me of a classmate, when I went off planet to school last summer." She took a sip of Coke™, "Like eating your roomie – no way."

------------------------

As Arthur slowed on the walk back, Sheila faded back with him. "What can I do for you, Arthur?"

"You remember about my eyes?" She nodded, "Our burglar – I scanned her to check for concealed weapons, and I noticed something in her right breast. Something I check my Mom and sisters for." She nodded again, "She has a lump. It's deep enough that she probably wouldn't feel it on a self-exam, and it's fairly small, but how do I tell her? I mean, I don't hate her, and..."

"We can plant a suggestion with her doctor," Sheila said, adding after a minute, "Mattie and I?"

"Nothing I've seen," he said, and Sheila breathed a sigh of relief.

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 24, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Federal surveillance: 13:21 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"This is Susan," the Fed answered the phone.

"Ellis?" her boss asked. "I got a call from your roomie, she got a call from your doctor, who was calling about a lump of some sort." Her blood turned to ice as he went on, "I assume this is some female thing, get it checked out. She was rather anxious about it. I don't want to lose you, you're doing too good a job there."

------------------------

"Hello, Maggie, we haven't had a chance to talk," Susan said, maneuvering into a private place while the menfolk talked around the grill. Lowering her voice, she asked, "I need a referral for a doctor. A _female_ doctor," she added, touching her breast.

Maggie's cool demeanor changed instantly. "Come downstairs to the office, I'll give you a referral to the one we use."

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 24, 2001:  
London, Hyde Park: 10:01 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"So this is where I've been coming for my runs and..."

"Seize him!" Mattie turned to see Lady Shiva, who crooned, "Did you forget our appointment, Miss Wayne?"

"Your appointment is with me, Woosan, not my friends. Let him go."

"I think not," she said, as the two started to circle. "You kill me, he goes free. You lose, he dies. Only a matter of proper motivation, you see. I want to unlock the hidden killer in you, Wayne. Your father never took a life, but he wasn't running a private navy, either."

The gathering crowd started to murmur at that, when Mattie replied, "Death in combat is one thing, death here would be murder."

"Are you willing to sacrifice your boyfriend's life for your principals, Wayne?" Mattie didn't reply, but instead frowned, her eyebrow suddenly twitching upward as she spun for the ground, a sai in her left hand, bo stick in her right as Shiva's kick passed over her, mocking her, "Aren't you planning on fighting for your boyfriend's life? Why don't you use your special weapons?"

Mattie didn't answer, instead saying, "I call first blood."

Shiva smiled cruelly. "I call last, when I snap your neck," she said, "Don't you find it interesting that we're fighting near the Tyburn tree, where so many lost their lives?"

"I'm trying to save a few," Mattie said, focusing on her opponent, as a copper ran up, "'Ere now, what are you two doing? No brawling, now!"

"Brawling? Don't be insulting!" Shiva said, while Mattie's attention was diverted for a moment as she said, "Get out of here, officer, unless..." She ducked and rolled, knocking him out of the way of Shiva's attack and spinning into a series of kicks and punches, as others dragged the unconscious officer away.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," one spectator said, while another crossed herself as she watched the blindingly fast series of parries, kicks, and blows. "They're trying to kill each other."

"'Ere y' go, officer, have a bit o' water," one spectator told the copper as he shook himself awake. "'Y walked into a right nasty buzzsaw there. Bloody 'ell, they _are_ trying to kill each other."

"Na, didn't y' here? The Jap is holdin' Wayne's boyfriend 'ostage, she's fightin' f' 'im." The fellow was silent, "Wonder where she learned 'ow to fight like that."

Julie overheard this, and said one word, "Gotham."

------------------------

Both fighters had been disarmed, and each sported several bruises and cuts as they continued to circle. Mattie held up a hand, saying, "One minute, I smell a setup."

"It took you long enough," Shiva said, taking a step back with a smirk.

Wayne looked at her from under lowered eyebrows, then took a look at her calmly standing 'hostage' boyfriend, and said in an icy voice, "Arthur Donald Morton, you're mine."

Arthur gulped, telling his 'captor', "Better let me go, she doesn't look happy."

"I would agree with that. Good luck, Mr. Morton," the ninja said, doing a rapid fade into the crowd. Arthur briefly considered joining him and waiting a century or two until her temper had cooled.

He was saved when a large hand in a blue sleeve latched onto her shoulder, and a deep voice said, "I've had just about all of this that I can take." Superman turned, and crooked his finger, "Lady Shiva, don't make me come after you, and for you, Mr. Morton, don't even think about it."

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 24, 2001:  
Fortress of Solitude: 10:31 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

They landed softly, Superman telling them, "This is my home, where you three are going to cool off and make up. Kitchen is through there, medlab and bathroom through there. I would strongly advise you not to go wandering about, while your father may have had access, you, Miss Wayne, do not." He glowered at them, "I'll be back soon, you might want to think about lunch. Any questions?"

"Just one, please," Mattie said through puffs of white breath, "Could you turn up the heat?"

------------------------

As coffee perked in the kitchen, Arthur leaned against the counter, eyeing the two women parked in chairs on opposite sides of the table. "You both need a trip to the medlab, and DON'T tell me 'I'm fine.'." They ignored him, and each other, and he opened the fridge, extracting a Pepsi™. Grumbling, he extracted a pound coin, flipping it then pointing, "Lady Shiva, you go get cleaned up. Mattie, you help me get lunch put together, then you'll trade." Grabbing a kitchen timer, he twisted it, "You've got fifteen minutes, and DON'T tell me that's not long enough, I have four sisters."

------------------------

Kal landed softly, and listened to the conversation. He nodded to himself, and entered the kitchen, where Shiva was just saying, 'If you take that Hokkendo back-kick, and counter-rotate your foot... Hello, Superman." She eyed him critically, "You look like you've been a hundred rounds with a heavyweight, if you get my meaning."

"Thank you, Ms. Woosan, I feel like it, too, but I have a bad feeling about it. Please, call me Kal. I wanted to check with you three, and see how lunch was going. I brought some fresh veggies, I'm going to change, back in a minute."

Arthur was unpacking the paper bags, from the farmer's market in Ottumwa, Iowa. He folded one, saying, "I never thought that place was real."

"Oh, it's real, all right," Kal said from the doorway. "About twenty-five thousand in population." Wearing a Metropolis Meteors polo shirt and jeans, he entered the kitchen, opening a cabinet door, "Bags in here, please. How can I help?"

"I don't know, how good a baker are you?" Arthur asked as Mattie chopped vegetables.

------------------------

"One thing I don't understand," Arthur asked Shiva as he drained the spaghetti, "How can you simply walk around, surely you have warrants out for you?"

"I am officially not hearing the answer, although I'm curious too," Kal said.

"Don't call me Shirley," she said with a grin, "Unofficially then," Shiva replied, "You have certain contacts in certain areas that can provide what you need. Ships, aircraft, weapons, documents, whatever. Some are affiliated with government agencies like CIA and KGB, some are freelancers. Some are trustworthy, some not. Some are 'honest politicians', some will sell you out the instant your back is turned."

"Like some boyfriends," Mattie said coldly, then continued, "While it's been a while since I've been off planet, the T'Cha were 'honest politicians'. They're about five-eight, a fairly good build, salmon colored skin and small tentacles where their mustache would be. They have extended families, and of course refer clients to other family members." She glanced at Kal and Arthur, "Meet their price, and exceed it by about twenty-five percent, in the name of their 'duty', and they'll be a very reliable friend for the duration of their contract. Aside from that, any information deals with Guard Intelligence, and you don't have Need To Know."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 25, 2001:  
London, The Strand, Bundy home: 07:30 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Sheila pulled up the long drive, parking behind the Mercedes. Karen was outside, coaching Kent and waved, "Anne's inside."

"When do I get to go?" Kent asked, his big sister ruffling his hair.

"Let us get it built up a bit, then you can go."

------------------------

Inside, Anne was being 'advised' by two sets of parents, one current, one dead and ghostly. One noticed them and floated over, "Miss Wayne, what are you doing to ensure my daughter's safety?"

"Your daughter, sir, is a ship's officer. Until she can qualify with side arms, and gains a bit more experience, she'll be accompanied by, and will assist, a naval infantryman, a soldier, who will look out for her. I cannot be with her, we have a great deal to do and not much time or personnel to do it with." She looked him in the eye, and said, "I have never lost any of my people, and I have no intention of starting now."

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 25, 2001:  
London, Arrowhead Investments, Security Office: 09:34 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

Liz hesitantly knocked on the door, saying, "Excuse me?

"Yes, Ms. Sterling, isn't it?" The burly ex-Marine said, "What can I do for you, lass?"

"Well, my room-mate Ash, Ashley Nicheyev, was gone when I got up today, and I thought she might be here. She left me this note, and... well, I'm worried." She saw the other fellow, and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'll come back later."

"No, lass, this is my mate, Detective Sergent Conners, we served together. He's with the Yard, if you have a missing mate, it's more important than our war stories. Might I see the note?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," she said as the note was passed over. Thompson read it aloud,

"_Liz – gone to the stars. Don't wait up for me, Ash._"

Passing it to his mate, saying, "Unfortunately, there are three starships on this planet at the moment, lass. One is under court hold in New York pending the resolution of ownership, the other the boffins are tearing apart, and the third was scheduled to leave about an hour ago."

Conners said, "We'll still take a look, lass. Can you come with me?"

------------------------  
_**Saturday, August 25, 2001:  
**Cassidy Yates**, outbound: 10:06 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"...now let me do a quick overview of what each team is going to do. Team R is tasked with..." Mattie's briefing was interrupted by Anne's arrival, pushing a figure ahead of her, "Excuse me, Captain, but I found her hiding in the head in cabin two."

"Crap," she said. "Alfred, why didn't you pick up on her?"

"There were several last-minute updates to the access list, and of those, three were verbally cleared, Captain. I apologize, I misplaced her in the confusion."

Mattie looked the taller blonde up and down, inspecting her. Almost as an afterthought, she said, "We'll have to secure our stocks of jumpsuits, I see. I presume you stole yours from the office, Ms. Nicheyev?"

She swallowed rapidly, then said, "Yes, ma'am."

"And imitated the skinsuit with a leotard, I presume. That indicates advanced planning, not a spur-of-the-moment lark." She glanced at the German, "Hauptfeldwebel Schultz, we'll need to revise our security. The Guard's ID is too close in design to Arrowhead's. Alfred, location, please?"

"Interstellar space, captain."

"Thank you. Please start recording," and she looked at the stowaway. "Ms. Nicheyev, stowing away aboard a ship is illegal in every country on Earth. Do you have funds to pay for this trip?"

The girl shook her head, and the captain sighed, "Furthermore, Ms. Nicheyev, the Interstellar Commercial Code, which we are now under, gives the captain of a ship three options to deal with a stowaway." The blonde swallowed nervously as the captain went on, "One, I can space you. You would be sucked out the airlock into the drive field, where you would be torn apart into your component atoms. A quick death."

"Two, I can enslave you," she continued coldly. "As a legal conviction, you could not be freed, or even upgraded to a common slave without a court order. You would be buried in that collar, one like T'ree's." She motioned to the golden-skinned alien, who stepped forward, hissing, "Stupid hoo-man, like mine. Want one? You'll get it, if you're unlucky. Better a quick death, instead, to pray for."

"Third option is 'Captain's Option', which means I can do whatever the hell I want with you," Mattie said, and Anne raised her eyebrow. When her captain used profanity, it meant she was truly upset. "I can use you for medical experimenting, whatever else the fracking HELL I want to do. Are we clear on that, Ms. Nicheyev?" The blonde swallowed nervously, "You didn't know that, did you? Tell me, why did you do it?"

"I... I... well, it's a stupid reason, but I... wanted one of those collars, and it looked like..." She ran down, "I said it was a stupid reason, I'm sorry, Captain. I won't do anything like it again."

"Damn right you won't," the captain replied. "Ms. T'ree, would you and Ms. Tanaka take her to my cabin, please? In a storage locker at the foot of my bunk there is a black bag with a more appropriate outfit. Please assist her in changing, making certain that it is nice and tight, and then return with her."

------------------------

Hideo slammed her hard against the bulkhead, "You stupid bitch, you want a slave collar? This isn't some silly piece of bondage gear, this doesn't even lock on your neck. No, it's _implanted_, and a neurosurgeon _may_ be able to remove it. It sends tendrils all up and down your nervous system, you see, and most masters, even if they free you, don't want to pay that expense."

"Why should they free you, a slave is a disposable piece of equipment, you p'tah?" T'ree spat. "There are no old age homes for slaves, after you've been worked to near death, if you're fortunate, the government will give you a quick death, by cutting your head off." She held two fingers a few inches apart, slashing them across Ash's neck. "They use lasers, a nice clean cut, and keep the part of your neck that had the collar, for research into better collars, you see, and grind up the rest of your body for animal feed. Why not? You're just another animal, a slave animal." She gripped Ash's throat, "Don't even think about a slave revolt. Masters make too much money off slaves to allow it, all they have to do is press a button, and every single nerve in your body locks up in agony. You can't fight, you can't think, you can't even breathe."

"You think you're a pretty girl?" Hideo said. "Think again. There are breeding programs, and farms for slaves, to make them more docile, more beautiful, and more intelligent. They're the most fabulously beautiful females you'll ever see, and every one of them is just like you." She banged Ash into the bulkhead again, "A toy. An object. There's nobody to help you while you're being raped, there's no safe word to make the beating stop. It stops when your master wants it to stop, not one second sooner, and then you're put back to work."

T'ree snarled, "Wanting one of these is an insult to every last being in the Universe that wears one, starting with me. So give me a reason to kill you so I don't have to put up with your stupidity anymore." She took a step back, and said, "Strip, you idiot, and we'll get you changed like the Captain wants."

------------------------

After they had gone, Mattie put her face in her hands, scrubbed a bit, then said, "What the hell do I do with her?"

"Give her what she wants, a collar," one of the slaves said coldly. "Then sell her off."

"Captain, if I may?" the Riddler said, "It occurs to me that my Letter allows me greater latitude in this matter than you. While I find the thought of owning another being repellent, I can adapt for the sake of my mission. If I am successful in gaining one of my prizes, a machine that will de-collar our colleagues, it could also logically be used to place a collar. She must learn that actions have consequences, and I will keep her with me as part of my team, although ignorant of my actual missions. If I need to, I will collar her."

She turned as Ash returned in a very tight black slave corset, hands fastened behind her. A set of keys was tossed on the table next to the girl's bag.

"Comfortable, Ms. Nicheyev?" the Captain asked coldly, and the girl shook her head 'no'. "I am this close (holding up two fingers a millimeter apart), to collaring you. I'll ask you once again, do you have any money with you?"

The girl swallowed in fear, "I've a tenner in my wallet, for the train home," she whispered.

The captain rooted through her bag, pulling out a ten pound note. She shoved it in a pocket, saying, "You will sign the ship's articles as a cabin girl, working off your passage. When we land, while you will nominally be free and rank above the slaves, you will do what they 'suggest', is that clear?" The girl nodded, as the captain continued, "You are the lowest one on this ship, you will take orders from First Officer Bundy, you will be seen and not heard. If I hear ONE complaint about you, you WILL wear a collar for the rest of your natural life. To remind you, you will wear that slave corset until told otherwise. Do you have any questions?"

The girl was gasping for breath, but managed to stand up somewhat, "No, Captain. I accept your judgment."

"Good," Mattie Wayne stood, and said, "For the admitted crime of seeking transport without payment of compensation, also known as stowing away, this ship's court finds you guilty, and in accordance with the Interstellar Commercial Code, sentences you to ship's service until your fare is paid. Failure to comply with the orders of your superiors will mean judicial enslavement for the rest of your natural life, or upon a court's pleasure to manumit you." She glared at the girl, "Do you understand this sentence?"

"I do..." she gasped out, and the Captain said, "Alfred, stop recording. Now then, let's go over what else we're doing. Ms. T'ree will be going with Ms. S and the Hauptfeldwebel as we ship-shop, as our technical consultant. After that, Ms. S (she gestured toward Lady Shiva) will be pursuing her own mission..."

------------------------

"Approach Control to _Cassidy Yates_," the comm said.

"This is _Yates_, go ahead, Approach," Mattie replied, turning to the view screen.

"I'm reading a Power Ring, _Yates_," the controller said.

"That's mine," Mattie said, as Shiva, Riddler and Hauptfeldwebel Schultz turned to look at her. "Attend to your boards!" she snapped, adding, "Sorry, Approach. We're in the market for some ships, so I'd like to reserve four bays, next to each other if possible, in the capital city."

"Ah, one moment, please, Yates." There was silence as Riddler muttered, "Why am I not surprised?", then the controller came back, "Yates, follow glide path 112-B to bays 32 through 35."

"Thank you, Approach. _Yates_ out," Mattie said, then looked at the others, "What?"

------------------------  
**_Saturday, August 25, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, Bay 32: 20:18 (relative)  
_**------------------------

As the bank's armored hover-van vanished into the distance with their deposit, Mattie tucked the receipt into her bag, zipping the chip inside. "Alfred, I must thank you for keeping the account active. We have more money than I thought. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I'll think of something, Captain. For now, might I suggest a brief walkabout this evening, in order to acclimate people?"

"Good idea, however, we should visibly arm ourselves," Schultz said.

"I'm certain I'm not the only one who has concealed arms," the Captain said with a chuckle. "Why borrow trouble? Check what the locals are wearing and arm yourselves accordingly."

"I'll take The Idiot with me," the Riddler said, "If necessary, I'll say she's my idiot niece, which should be good for a laugh. I'll start feeling out the territory."

------------------------

"Don't worry, Oberleutnant Bundy, this is not nearly as exciting as some ports," the sergeant said, his MP7 ready. Their 'slaves' followed behind them, chained by the neck (with a special 'quick release' locking mechanism) as they wandered through the port area in the early evening.

"Look, a dealer in weapons," Anne said, and they angled that way, the sergeant telling one of the girls, "Stay here," and locked a chain around one girl's throat for a disguise.

------------------------


	12. 26 August – 31 August, 2001

A/N: This is about 35 pages, and slightly dark in tone. 3.5 is finished, though!!

------------------------

------------------------   
For disclaimers, please see chapter one.   
------------------------  
12: 26 August – 31 August, 2001   
------------------------

**_Sunday, August 26, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Bay 32: 07:56 (relative)  
_**------------------------

Anne was bored. The captain had said that either she, Anne or the German sergeant needed to be present while there was cryptographic gear installed. While she supposed she could stand and watch The Idiot as she cleaned the already spotless ship, she had to suppress an urge to help her. Sitting on a crate in the open cargo hold, she opened her laptop and asked, "Alfred, prithee open a link to the local library, I wish to do some research on energy sources."

------------------------

The Russian non-com was bored. Walking a slow circuit about the ship, he noticed the first officer sitting on a crate in the cargo bay, immersed in her laptop. '_Cute kid_,' he thought. '_Wonder if they're as bored walking duty in the other three bays_,' then snorted to himself, '_Probably. At least I get to go walkabout tomorrow_.'

------------------------

Ash paused for a second to wipe her sweating brow, then continued scrubbing the steel deck. She could feel the metal of the tracking collar locked on her throat, her mouth was parched and dry behind the locked gag, she sweltered under the tight slave corset, and she desperately needed to use the head again, which the fiendish arrangement locked in her crotch denied her. She didn't dare leave her task, and she had no idea where the necessary key was. Dunking the scrub brush in the bucket again, she pulled it toward her, her chains making a slithering sound against the deck. '_Well, you idiot, you got your slave collar_,' she told herself. '_Happy_?'

------------------------

Emerging from the bank, Mattie, the sergeant, Ms. S and Mr. R paused to collect their respective 'slaves' from where they were secured, watering them from a fountain as it was already becoming warm. The Riddler's twins, in attractive pale green shifts with the mandatory yellow border, knelt on the pavement as their 'Master' finished his discussion, then followed him, bound together with a neck chain.

------------------------

"Ready?" Sandra Woosan asked her 'slave', T'ree, and the girl popped up, white shift draped over her head and open at the sides, tied closed on the slave's left, barely long enough to cover her crotch. "Fix the back," Sandra said, and the girl arranged the drape around the vertical slit that let her slave belt's cuffs secure her wrists.

"Stay to my left," T'ree's 'mistress' said, handing her the belt pouch to wear again, and she asked, "Do you wish me bound, Mistress?" as she clipped it about her waist. "No," 'mistress' said, shaking her head in negation.

------------------------

"Tie your sandal, you careless wench!" Mattie said to Hideo, her 'slave', who immediately crouched, retying the leather strings that held her right sandal. Her 'mistress' took a seat, Hideo kneeling next to her, and she asked softly, "Hear anything interesting?"

"Rumors of war, mistress," Hideo replied softly, as the sergeant casually took a seat facing the other direction, hand near his MP7. "Those slaves that keep their master's books say that prices for fuel and provisions are higher, and it's a buyer's market for slaves, owners are selling them off for ready cash."

"Piracy is on the upswing," the sergeant said softly as Hideo 'fixed' her left sandal. "Ship mounted weapons are more expensive, even the small arms we saw last night, and insurance rates are higher, although less so for ships traveling away from this arm."

"I supplemented the forty tons of tungsten the Guard allocated for each team with another ten each from my own accounts," Mattie said softly. "I hope that's enough." She looked around, "You two ready?" she asked, standing and holding out her bag to Hideo, who clipped it around her waist.

"Ja," the sergeant said, standing and offering his to the 'slave'. "Let us go buy a warship."

------------------------  
**_Sunday, August 26, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, docks: 10:56 (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Well, now you're a pretty wench," the rather sweaty alien told Shiva. "Why ain't you in a collar, so's I can enjoy you?"

Her reply was a quick, brutal slash, and she shoved him away with her boot. "I collar slaves," she told the corpse, tossing a coin to the bartender, who caught it. "I'm not one." She took a seat at the bar as the bar's slaves dragged the body out, the momentary lull in the conversation resuming. T'ree grinned to herself, now knowing how her 'mistress' wanted to play things. Turning to a slave chained next to her, she asked, "What's the latest news?"

------------------------

Riddler paged through the local directory, finally giving up in disgust and flicking it off. Strolling to the library's reference desk, he asked the slave there, "Pardon me, but I could not find what I am looking for. Might you know?"

The attractive golden skinned slave said, "Yes, Master, what can I assist you in finding?" She brushed back her collar-length reddish hair, the blue and white lights on her collar reflected in her terminal, the bells in her nipples chiming softly under her pale blue smock.

"A minor question, I don't believe I've seen a collar like yours before."

"I am a government slave, Master. What can I assist you in finding?"

"Ah, thank you." He leaned forward, "On every planet I've visited, there has been an abolitionist society," Edward Nigma said casually. "I find it strange there isn't one here."

"I understand they have been having some legal difficulties lately, Master," the slave said, shifting in her seat. He heard a click from under the desk as she jotted a note for him, "Perhaps you might have better luck contacting these people, Master." He caught a glimpse of a small silver disk implanted in her temple before her hair fell forward, covering it.

"Thank you," he said, with a warm smile, as he accepted the note.

------------------------

"Not a warship to be had," the sergeant said quietly, as they rode on public transport to another shipyard.

"That we can afford, in any case," Mattie said. "We'll have to go with Plan B, and buy the tech for system defense. Let's take a look at a nice cargo ship, and see what we can do about building our own ships."

"And fighters, and inertial compensators, and ship-mounted weapons, and system defense weapons..." he replied. "It had better be a big cargo ship."

"The Yates can carry 125 tons, we'll look at atmospheric, a few thousand tons until we get our orbital yards going," she replied. Hideo looked up, "Mistress, this is our stop."

------------------------  
**_Monday, August 27, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, docks: 22:58 (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Word has it you're lookin' for sump'in," the large, smelly alien said as he sat at Eddie's table. He reached out and grabbed a bite of food off Eddie's plate, and he shoved it away. "Sump'in to do wi' slaves," he added as he chewed. "I'm a slaver, just dropped off my last cargo. What you lookin' for?" He belched, then washed his mouthful down with a slug from Eddie's glass.

Edward carefully dabbed his lips with his napkin, precisely folding it and laying it on the table before replying, "Slave collars. I need to remove one, for... political reasons."

"Anyone can collar a slut," the alien said, grabbing another bite off Eddie's plate. His prosthetic left arm whined and sparked as it moved, while the alien's artificial left eye glowed red. "Have the government take it off, 'though any female looks better wearin' a collar. They're suppos' be slaves." His right hand made a circular motion near his neck. "They can't hide th' collar on th' slut?"

"My client's political opponents control that aspect of the government," Eddie explained. "They need this done very quietly, as it could be damaging if the news got out." He shifted in his seat, marveling at the being's credulity, but continued with his skillful lie. "They are currently hiding it under clothing, but a public religious festival is coming up. The girl cannot be seen wearing a slave collar."

"Fsckin' politicians, won't let a being make a livin'," 'Smelly' declared.

"In that we are agreed, however, my client is one of those politicians, and I therefore have a contract to fulfill." Eddie leaned forward (reluctantly), and asked, "Can you do this?"

"Two steps ta legally takin' off a collar, 'Smelly' declared. "One, y' goes to the gov'ment, file a mess of chipwork, pay ten kilos in fees, more sumtimes, an' ya wait two years waiting for woik that should take ten seconds to get the slave declared 'free'. Den dey sends y' a code so th' collar won't kill the slut wearin' it f' th' next part." He drained Eddie's glass, and waved to the bar for a refill. A naked slave quickly appeared with the drink, and he grabbed her by the collar, spilling the drink. "Two, da collar links ta th' nervous system, like a infection, y' gotta cut th' links when you remove th' collar, otherwise y' kill th' slut. S' a waste of time an' tungsten, slave's a cheap, na' worth freein'". He spun the slave girl around, his massive paw moving up and down her spine, leaving a greasy mark. "Doc cuts out th' bad nerves an' tosses th' slut in a med tank fer a year. Docs ain't cheap, neither is tanks. Cost y' third ton or more. Sluts ain't worth it." Turning suddenly, he roared "Where's my drink!?"

"Coming, Master" the frightened girl said, scampering off.

"The young woman in question is not a slut," Eddie stated levelly. He made a mental note to get his translator chip checked when he got back to the Yates. His uninvited guest was nearly unintelligible.

"Whatever," Smelly said while making a dismissive alien gesture. "But y' ain't got a year? Right?"

"Unfortunately true," Riddler said while wondering how long he could handle the stench without vomiting. "I'm guessing there are other methods."

With what was clearly a failed attempt to look innocent, 'Smelly' replied, "Unlawful collar removal is a enslavement offense. Conspiracy ta same is almost as bad. This conversation will cost ya 100 grams ta continue."

He'd been expecting a request for earnest money. The amount didn't bother him. From what Mattie had said, what ten bucks bought you in Gotham, a gram would buy here. He'd paid far more for necessary information before. He'd paid less too. Still, the amount wasn't excessive.

Pulling out a coin from a vest pocket, Eddie placed it on the table and slid it across. 'Smelly' waved his cybernetic hand over it before picking it up. '_A scanner in there, I assume_.' Eddie thought.

"Cutting off a slut's collar is easy, 'er livin' is harder. Y' can stop a collar's no tampering killin' charge if y' knows how. I knows how."

"How?"

"Depends on th' collar, but that ain't all I know an' it ain't important. I can change collars ta read 'free' without a gov'ment code." Eddie allowed himself to look impressed. If true, this was something that Mattie would definitely want to hear about. "Where's my drink!" he roared again.

"Here, Master," the slave said as she placed it in front of him. The young woman backed out of paw range, but Eddie noticed she stayed near the table, listening, just as his own 'slaves' were doing outside.

Draining half the glass in one gulp, 'Smelly' continued, "Once you get th' collar off, y' can't just go ta a doc. Dey check with th' gov'ment ta see if th' slut was legally freed, as if y' couldn't afford that if y' can pay for th' doc."

"I take it there is another way?"

"Course. There's a drug. It'll cause th' nervous system ta expel the links an' breaks 'em down real quick. Problem is gettin' caught usin' or havin' it will get y' killed... if y're lucky. Gotta calibrate th' dose just right too. But fer th' right price, I can arrange things."

"I'd have to see a demonstration. My client's daughter is too valuable to risk without one."

After gulping down the rest of his drink, 'Smelly' said, "Price fer an example is th' same as fer th' real thing." He then named a figure.

High, but not too high and less than what a legal manumission and collar removal supposedly cost. After pausing to give the appearance of consideration, Edward Nigma, Special Agent of the Solar Guard, said, "Accepted."

"Bay 56, t'morrow mornin', an' bring a slut," 'Smelly' said, getting up and capturing his drink off the slave's tray as he walked by.

The slave knelt next to Eddie, and he told her, "Interesting."

"Yes, Master. If Master is finished, I have your bill." She offered a tablet, "Twelve grams, thirty, please."

Eddie fished out coins, "Twelve fifty, including some for the time you'll need to clean yourself off after he pawed you."

She grinned, "Thank you, Master." She nodded after the departed 'Smelly', "Master's religion prohibits bathing, you see."

"I see," Eddie said, fishing out another coin, "You overheard what he said?"

The girl nodded, "The drug exists, Master, but it must be calibrated very carefully for the type and model of a slave's collar, as well as her species. Iron based bloods use different formulations than copper or sulfur, for instance. A year in a med tank is also very likely." She grinned slightly, "I was a medical officer on a liner, Master. Now, I'm a collared slave in a bar. The Source knows what will happen next."

"Interesting..." Eddie said. "If I wanted to see you again, how would I?"

She tapped her collar, "My slave number ends in 736, Master." She looked at him, "Are you thinking of buying me?"

"I have a friend who might be interested," Eddie admitted. "I'll be in touch."

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, August 28, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Bay 56: 07:18 (relative)  
_**------------------------

Ash wondered what was happening. She had been awakened earlier, her tracking collar removed. She had been fed and watered, allowed a trip to the head, then chained between Mr. R's two slaves, who rode with her and other slaves in an open cart behind the hover bus her 'master' rode with the other free persons. The bus stopped, their master disembarking and waving them off.

After walking a bit, they entered the high stone walls of the landing bay through a barred gate, Mr. R speaking to a frightened slave, who scampered inside the small starship as the slaves knelt on the scorched concrete.

One of the cargo hatches whined open, and a large being walked out, the two girls chained with her wrinkling their noses at his smell. One girl scrubbed at her nose, making a small sound of disgust, the other said, "Poor Master, he's much closer."

"Poor slave, wouldn't you hate to belong to him?" the other replied, and Ash nodded with her sister. The being had a cybernetic left arm and eye, throwing his right arm around as he spoke to Mr. R. The left arm spat sparks as he gestured, then Mr. R. gestured them to join him in the cargo bay. As they knelt before him, the smelly alien finished locking his slave's ankles into a device set in an alcove, a small device linked by cable clamped on her hips, over her belt.

"Dis' collar is typical f' a common slut," he said as he pulled her curly brown hair away, showing the yellow lights on her collar. He pulled her head down as her wrists were locked her own slave belt, the device seating over her collar. Mr. R. joined him behind the control panel as the device warmed up, the alien pushing a large button, and the girl screamed in the device.

Ignoring her scream of pain, the alien released her head, gripping her hair and saying proudly, "Da slave i' free, an' implants is matchin'." Indeed, the girl's collar lights were dark, as she panted, still locked in the machine, saying, "Thank you, thank you."

Ignoring her, he grabbed an injector, pressing it against her neck. "Dere, th' drug is workin' ta remove 'er implants."

"Interesting, what else can it do?" Mr. R asked.

"Convert a slut's collar," he replied, grabbing the girl's hair and forcing her neck in the machine again as she screamed, "No, Master, please, no!" He told her, "You'se not paid y' fare, I's tha' owner a' this ship, I sentences y' to slavery." Addressing Mr. R, he said, "It tha' easy, I gots a legal rulin' and," he adjusted controls, pressing the large red 'GO' button again, and she screamed in pain as the machine worked. With a 'thunk', restraints were released, and the machine ejected her to land against the grimy deck, wrists still bound behind her, the yellow and green lights of a judicial slave now on her collar as she lay sobbing on her back.

Mr. R was absorbed in the control panel as the greasy alien motioned to the other slaves, "Locks her in, I does her for 'y."

"Master?" one of the twins asked, Mr. R grunting distractedly as the alien grabbed Ash, flicking her chain collar open with a finger, and placing the equipment on her. With a yank, her neck was pulled into the ring and clamped down.

The freshly collared girl sobbed, "Master, please, no!" as Mr. R stepped aside, still regarding the controls. The girl struggled to her knees, "Master, don't do it! Please, Master, don't let him collar her! It's a fake, a trick, she won't be free!"

"Eh?" Mr. R said as he turned, dropping his hand to his weapon. "What do you mean?"

The alien roared in rage as the girl said from the floor, "It's a trap, that was colored water he injected me with, he was supposed to free me, but he lied, he tricked me, and he's trying to trick you, Master! I'll never be free now, but if you complete the deal, he'll turn you in for a reward! Don't do it, Master!" The alien roared again, an arc of electricity sparking from his prosthetic left arm as Ash screamed in pain. Mr. R's small gun burped twice, the alien staggering, arms waving as his right arm came down, hitting the red 'GO' button as he collapsed.

------------------------

Ash screamed in pain as white hot needles stabbed into her left hip, and the machine contracted around her neck, wrists pulling futilely against her cuffs. A lance of sharp pain forced itself into her spine as metal formed around her neck, and she screamed again, fighting the machine she was locked into. She sobbed in agony as the collar formed around her neck. She wanted it to end as the metal tightened into place, throat raw from screaming, as the thought formed, "_I'm a slave! I'm a slave now_!" With a 'thunk', she was ejected to be thrown against the deck, where she lay, thinking, "_I'm a slave girl now..._"

------------------------

Cropag looked down as the skinny alien pointed a small box, he had scanned him for weapons, and found none. It burped twice, and he looked down as white hot fire stabbed into him, agony erupting inside. He waved his arms, a bolt triggering from his left arm as he staggered, slumping as his right hand touched wet. '_I'm wet_!' he thought as his sight faded. '_I shall never become one with..._'

------------------------

L'jissa struggled to her feet, "Master! Take the ship, while his blood is still hot, the command wand in his right pocket! Hurry, you only have moments while he yet lives!" The two other girls grabbed her former Master as she hurried to the command deck, telling them, "Master, place your hand over his, and insert the wand in the slot, telling the computer, "I take ownership of this ship, her accounts and cargo." Her skinny new Master did so, as the computer beeped, telling them, "Transfer of ownership complete. Record update transmitting now." L'jissa exhaled in relief, "Thank you, Master, and thank the Source."

Edward looked about, shuddering at the filth. "Why did you do it?" he asked his new slave.

"I took a chance, Master," she shrugged. "Your slaves were not afraid of you, as I was with it," and she looked at the rapidly cooling corpse, "My former Master also lied to me, and tricked me into believing I would be freed if I cooperated in his plan. Now," and her chin touched her slave collar, "I can never be freed, but this is a sweet revenge on him, and you seem like a good Master. I would have been confiscated and transferred to the government along with the ship if the taxes weren't paid by the end of the week." She shrugged, repeating, "I took a chance."

"Hmf," Edward said. He motioned the twins over, flicking open their chain collars, "Take the corpse out, put it in an airlock where it can stink. We'll strip it and salvage anything useful, and eject it in space. Send the other slave up, and then go back to where we're staying, and bring our stuff back here." One of the girls said, "Yes, Master," as they departed, dragging the smelly corpse. He turned, telling L'jissa "I want you and the other slave to start cleaning this ship, top to bottom."

"Oh, _thank you_, Master!" she replied.

------------------------

"Incoming call, Master," L'jissa said. Eddie waved as he (gingerly) took a seat in the command chair. He turned as a screen came to life above where L'jissa sat.

"Good day," he told the government slave on the screen.

"Good morning, Master," she replied. "We received a change of ownership for the ship and a slave. I also see a judicial enslavement and a status change for the slave. Is this correct?"

"It is," he said warily.

"Thank you, Master," she said, and continued on, "We show accumulated taxes and license fees of 1,646 kilograms and four grams. When will these be paid?" She brushed her hair back, the silver gleam of a cranial implant on her right temple.

"I am planning on traveling to the city this afternoon, the previous owner just departed and I will be transferring funds into the ship's accounts. They will be paid either today or tomorrow." He steepled his fingers, "I find myself curious about your cranial implant, does..."

The government slave stiffened, and in a robotic voice replied, "Thank you for your inquiry regarding this model 35J work unit. This unit is specialized for light industrial, retail and administrative tasks, and comes standard with programming for high intelligence, docility, and curiosity and anger suppression. This unit is pre-programmed with all 1,694 major galactic languages used by oxygen-breathing bipeds, and will never need discipline. Custom programming available, as are other models in the extensive WorkForce catalog. Military options available upon request. Would you like information sent to you?"

Eddie exchanged a look of horror with L'jissa as he slowly replied, "Yes, I would."

The girl on the screen touched a device to her implant, then replied, "Information has been sent to your ship's account. Thank you for your WorkForce inquiry, a salesbeing will be in touch." She jerked, then slumped for a second, before resuming in a normal tone, "I also see debts owed to the Spacer's guild and the Slaver's guild."

"I will stop by them on the way to your offices," Eddie replied. "Was there anything else?"

"No, Master. Have a pleasant day," the government slave said, signing off. L'jissa looked at her master, and said, "Poor slave."

"Indeed. Indeed," he agreed.

------------------------

Ash moaned to herself as she lay on her back on the filthy deck. She opened her eyes as she was kicked by one of the twins, "Get up, we've got work to do, our Master has the ship now, and he wants it cleaned."

"Check her hands," the other twin said, holding up an object. Ash was pulled to her feet and spun around, "Her left hand's damaged," and their gaze traveled to where a scorch mark was on the bulkhead. Moving over, Ash saw part of her left palm with fingers still attached in the girl's hand. Her eyes rolled up, and she fainted.

------------------------

"Wake up, girl. Wake up, now," someone was telling her, slapping her face. Ash moaned, twisting as she felt metal around her left wrist. "Wha...?" she asked.

"When 'Smelly' was dying, he triggered a bolt from his left arm," her Master said. '_Master! I have a Master_!' Ash thought as he continued, "You apparently moved upward in the machine at that point, and it severed part of your left hand. We've immersed your hand in medicinal fluid, and locked it on, as it is apparently very uncomfortable, and cannot be disturbed. It will have to do until you receive proper treatment."

"It itches, Master," Ash agreed.

"Even so, you will need to endure it for the next two months, while your hand is regrown. Can you stand?" He helped her, walking with her to a bench set in an alcove in the bay's walls. She tried to kneel before him, but he gently pushed her back. She looked down at herself, and blushed, leaning forward to try to cover herself, "I'm naked, Master!"

He chuckled dryly, "No, you're properly outfitted, according to the other slaves, with your collar and slave belt. Lean back, you're an attractive slave, and I am your master and a male, after all." She hesitantly sat back as he continued, "I removed your corset, it was a bit bloody, and had you cleaned." He turned to face her, "I regard myself as partially responsible for your collar, I was intrigued by the control panel, and didn't... well, water under the bridge and all. For the next few minutes, you may speak your mind, without repercussion."

"I might speak my mind, Master? Without repercussion?" She regarded him warily, Edward could see her hands twisting behind her in the cuffs as she thought, then asked, "Master, are you an agent for Earth?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Bits and pieces, Master. I saw the video from when you met with Mistress Wayne and the others, and did a search, you're originally from Gotham, and your name is Mr. Edward Nigma, Master. You're also known as the Riddler. Since the French hamstrung government support of the Guard, there has to be other methods of employ, and spies have been known throughout history. Why else would you be off Earth?"

"A collar is wasted on you..." Eddie said with a grin. "On the other hand, you have access to areas I do not. Many people forget their servants have eyes, ears, and brains. A collar may be perfectly placed on your lovely neck, if you don't forget to whisper in my ear."

"Especially one that may never be removed, Master," she replied with a grin. "I have not yet adjusted to going about topless, but I shall. I am, as you said, properly kitted out for a slave girl, but what will happen to me?"

"Ah," her Master said. "If I were a proper Master, I would slit your throat this instant, as I don't know you well enough to trust you with a secret you may, unintentionally or not, endanger our lives with." Ash swallowed, as Eddie said, "You should not have told me that, my dear. You may have been able to trade our lives for your freedom, although I would beware of trickery or deceit. Indeed, there is nothing that would entice the authorities to grant your freedom, you might wind up, still in a collar, next to us on the gallows or the block. Even though Ms. L'jissa is completely innocent in this matter, she would undoubtedly be right next to us, as she is also only a slave."

"Master, I... didn't know, I didn't realize..." Ash said.

"Indeed. What to do with you..." the Riddler reflected. "I suppose I could, as your Master, gag you or have your vocal chords torn out. As you yourself have said, you are naught but a slave girl." He turned, looking deeply into her fearful eyes, "I think, Ms. Nicheyev, that I shall gamble all our lives on you. I shall entrust all our lives on your silence, and once we have gotten the ship back to specification, and back in space, we shall decide, the five of us, what we shall do. Also, as I owe you a debt, I shall propose to Miss Wayne when I meet with her that Guard Agent Nicheyev was tragically killed when she threw herself on an explosive device, saving lives, et cetera, et cetera. Very heroic, all that could be recovered of her remains was a bit of her left hand. After DNA verification, it was returned to relatives for proper burial."

"That is very tragic, Master. However, a certain judicial slave..."

"... Whose slave number ends in 383 will remain with the slaver E. Nigma, that dastardly fellow, as his personal property. However, a certain agent of the Guard, whose identity is classified but whose file number ends in 383, is enrolled in the Guard's pension and benefits package, for her eventual retirement. Marvelous, that fund, with a number of the top companies of the world, and as her living expenses are paid by her employer, 383 may invest 100 percent of her salary."

"That person 383 is a fortunate girl, however, this woefully inexperienced slave's immediate destiny..." she probed.

"The slave 383, who was formerly known as The Idiot, and who is now nameless, is pushing things," her Master told her with a frown. "Perhaps she should be known as 'Mata Hari'."

"Mata Hari was executed, Master. This slave is content to remain nameless for now," she replied with a grin.

"Perhaps I should name you 'Nameless'," he replied with a glower. "No, I am concerned that I have only one slave who knows anything about this ship. While the twins and L'jissa continue to clean the decades of filth from this ship, due to your injury, you are unable to assist them. Therefore, you will be placed in the Spacer's Guild for intensive training and certification over the next few weeks, while we bring the ship up to specification. Therefore, today you and I will journey to the city center with L'jissa, you two need tax assessment as judicial slaves, and I need to pay back debts of 'Smelly' as part of the transfer of title." He stood, clipping the collar to a slave chain on her neck. "The twins are packing my things, they will return and start to clean." He pulled on the light chain, "Come, we have a bus to catch."

------------------------

"We need the number 17," Master told L'jissa as he motioned them into a fenced area, while he strolled off to an enclosed area where he could wait in comfort. 383's bare feet burned from the hot concrete, she already envied the simple leather sandals other slaves wore. "Gracefully," she was told, as she started to kneel, and she did it again until she received an approving nod.

"New slave?" a handsome male slave asked, as she blushed and nodded. "You'll get used to your collar," he said. "We all did. How's your master?"

"Much better than the old one," L'jissa replied. "Our old master did not bathe, for religious reasons, and the ship was dirty. The first order our new master gave is to clean the ship, thank the Source. I'm happy we have a new one, even if we've got new collars."

"No 'new master' beatings?" another slave asked. "You two are lucky, even with judicial collars." A bus pulled up, and a slave called back, "Number 17!"

"This is ours," L'jissa said. "Luck of the Source, everyone!"

"Source!" several slaves returned, as they made their way onto the low trailer behind the bus.

------------------------

383 had always enjoyed watching people, it was one thing she had liked about the Tube. She watched a slave with her two young charges board the bus, the young boy smiling and waving at her. As she knelt and watched the city's people board and depart the bus, she smiled, not knowing L'jissa was watching her.

------------------------

Edward Nigma debarked from the bus, strolling back to call into the caged trailer, "My two slaves, out!" He heard L'jissa call, "Yes, Master!" and thought, '_That was a clean, well run and affordable trip. It is indeed a pity that it requires slavery to run public transport properly_.' He motioned the two girls to the sidewalk, indicating a yellow domed structure ahead. "Our first stop, the slaver's guild, where you two shall be assessed and I renew my slaver's licenses. Come." With a gentle whine, the bus moved off, as the two followed their master.

------------------------

383 followed L'jissa up from the bowels of the building, guided by the blue-smocked government slave who had emotionlessly taken them from room to room, locking her into one device after another. She stopped, kneeling and offering, "Master, the two slaves 578 and 383," as she handed the fellow the assessment board their collar's control chips were snapped into. The free man waved her away, and as she turned, she winked at 383, giving her a small smile. He grunted, waving them into a barred cell to wait as he inserted the first chip into his terminal, hunching forward to see their results.

"I wonder how we did," 383 whispered as they found an open bit of floor to kneel on.

"We'll never know unless Master decides we need to," L'jissa replied with a shrug, asking another slave, "What's the news?"

"From what Mistress said, J-class starship prices are nearing record levels, like fuel and thousand-liter water tank rates." the handsome slave said. The room lights reflected off his judicial collar as he continued, "Record profits from the insurance cartels, even though they're doing their usual 'we're so poor' moaning. Rates are highest in Sectors 2811 through 2832..."

"Sounds like a war coming," another slave said. "Thank the Source we're not going there." The master slid open his window, "578 and 383, out the door and up two flights, then left to meet your owner." The door buzzed as it unlocked for them, L'jissa saying, "Yes, Master. Luck of the Source, everyone!"

"Source!" people replied, including the Master in the window.

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, August 28, 2001:  
London, _**The Leaky Cauldron**_: 08:14 (GMT)  
_**------------------------

"...turning once again to the alien invasion, we have news of the destruction of Topeka, Kansas by the alien machines." the news anchor reported. He turned to his BBC colleague, "Louise, what can you tell us?"

"John, there are thousands dead here, killed by the... " she replied through terrible static, "... alien machines seem to be placed equidistant around the pla..."

"Louise?" He waited a few seconds, then said, "We seem to have lost our signal from America. Along those lines, we can report the loss of several communications satellites, with that in mind, we go to retired RAF general Sir Michael Throckbottom, with an opinion on the Solar Guard. Sir, you had a comment?"

"Indeed I did," the crisply attired man said. "The Solar Guard was supposed to replace all these hero types, and I ask, 'Where are they? In our hour of need, do they have ships and Marines to defend us? No, I ask where our tax money is going!"

"On the other side of the coin, we have Lady Mountbatten-Hurley, spokeswoman for the Solar Guard. Lady Hurley?"

"With all courtesy to Sir Throckbottom, one must remind people that a house is not built in a single day," the well-coifed brunette replied. "Due to the French veto in New York, alternative legal and financial structures had to be created, debated, and authorized in various legislatures and governments. As one knows, this takes time."

She shifted, looking into the camera, "Returning to the metaphor of a house, one cannot expect it to shelter you from the rain before the permits and financing to pay for it are in place, much less before construction begins." She paused, "This is where we are with the Solar Guard. Unfortunately, the storm hit us before the cellar is complete or the concrete poured, we shall have to wait it out and shelter with the neighbors. However, this allows us to plan for a much stronger house."

Albus snorted, finding the remote to the pub's telly and studying it before flicking it off. "Indeed, Lady Hurley makes sense. While there is much death and destruction, there is a chance to learn from this. Apt use of metaphor, also. Even wizarding construction takes time, this is why we do not use conjured walls in a building, my boy. They fail at the first strong wind. When one builds a structure, one must give it a firm foundation," he said, setting the remote down before moving down the bar to tend a client.

"I had wondered about that," Arthur mused as he sipped his blackberry tea, thinking '_Sydney, Coast City, and now Topeka. It's quite a death toll that aliens have racked up on Earth over the years. At least Columbus is safe so far. I wonder how Mattie's doing._'

------------------------  
**_Tuesday, August 28, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Capital City, Spacer's Guild: 12:15 (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Good day," her master told the being behind the desk. "I have a slave that needs intensive training and certification. She is an untrained girl, however I need an extra hand to replace a crewman who was recently killed."

The grey skinned being motioned, and 383 moved through a door as her Master continued to dicker with the desk being about rates and qualifications.

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 29, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, bay 32: 07:18 (relative)  
_**------------------------

"I'm going to turn my girl back over to you," Shiva told the others. "I've always been a lone wolf, if she were free, that would be different. The ship I found is designed for one or two people at most."

"I think she'll be rather relieved about that," Mattie told her dryly. "Try to go at least a few days without killing someone?"

"It was a fair fight," Shiva replied, "And you owe me one, too," she told Riddler. "Someone was trying to collect money from the previous owner of your ship, they'd tracked him down to bay 56. One less, or should I say, one more bounty hunter in the galaxy."

"I should have expected Smelly to leave behind serious debts," Eddie said, taking a sip of coffee. "I am grateful, if I might return the favor, please let me know." He sighed, "I have a dichotomy, in that my licenses as a slaver came with the ship, but my ethics and my contract with the Guard prohibits any transactions in them. How am I to make a living? I cannot sell them all to the Guard, it would raise suspicions." He raised his coffee cup, "I shall discover a means about it. In any case, I will need to receive nutritional and medical information for Ms. Nicheyev and myself, Captain."

"I have already sent that information to your ship, Mr. Nigma," Alfred's remote told him, adding, "And yours, Ms. Woosan."

"I've transferred forty tons back to your accounts, Captain," Shiva said. "That much money looks suspicious, I don't need it, and the Guard does." She reached down, and picked up two boxes, handing them to Mattie. "Early Christmas presents. Green for you, blue for Mr. Morton. Careful with them." She smiled, drained her tea, and stood, picking up another box and striding off.

T'ree came to collect the cup, watching the departing assassin, and said softly, "I assume that I am reassigned?"

"You are, if you will work with me, we shall go pick up that hospital ship," the sergeant said.

"Ah, regarding that, I have a slave in mind for you," Eddie said. "Former medical officer on a liner, she's working as a pub wench now. I don't know how current her medical information is, but I can get her up to speed at the Healer's Guildhall." He smiled wryly, "Part of my cover persona, and I get discounts on training the slaves. If you are agreeable, and will properly inform her and obtain her consent once you're into warp, I'll pick her up."

"Ja, she would be most useful," Hauptfeldwebel Schultz replied. "It will be a day or so getting the ship flight certified, we can do a great deal of refurbishment on Earth." There was a howl as a small ship rose into the air from a nearby bay, balanced in midair for a minute, then took off over their heads.

------------------------

"Thank you for buying me, Master," 736 told Eddie as she followed him away from the bar. "Might I inquire as to how I can serve you?"

"You might tell me your name, the one you had before the collar graced your lovely neck," he replied, slowing as she tried to keep up.

"My name was Z'haan, Master, but I will use whatever name you wish," the girl replied. "How may I serve you?"

He stopped to consult a map, then pulled her aside, "Your name is Z'haan, then. I purchased you for a client who needs a physician, I'm going to take you to the Healer's Guildhall to get your training up to date. We only have a few days, so learn quickly." He indicated the map, "It looks like we'll need the number 11 bus."

------------------------  
**_Wednesday, August 29, 2001:  
Grandview Heights, Ohio, Morton home, kitchen: 18:13 (GMT-5)  
_**------------------------

"Wonder what this is?" Bill wondered as he slit open the manila envelope, setting another one aside addressed to Hank. "I don't know anyone in Brussels." he pulled out the cover letter, then took a seat, "Oh, my."

"What is it, Dad?" Teela asked from where she worked on the salad.

"I'm officially an astronaut, I think," he replied. "They spelled my name 'Mofton', though."

------------------------  
**_Thursday, August 30, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, bay 56: 09:28 (relative)  
_**------------------------

L'jissa turned, seeing two beings striding toward the ship, wearing yellow striped kilts in the style of the Slaver's Guild. She turned off her rented sonic cleaner; removing her protective earphones, she knelt, asking. "What may this slave do for you, Masters?"

"We wish to speak to the new owner of this ship," one said. "We must certify your collaring equipment. Where is it?"

"If Masters will excuse me, I shall fetch my Master," she asked, receiving a wave in reply.

------------------------

"I understand the previous owner is no longer available to answer questions," one government being said.

"Unfortunately not," Eddie stated. "He lost the ship in a game of chance, the last I saw of him was walking that way," he waved generally toward the city center. "As you can see, the ship was rather dirty, I've had my slaves doing nothing but cleaning ever since. I cannot tolerate a dirty ship, it creates disease, which lowers profits among the animals, you see."

"True, so very true," the other government type said, as he lowered his computer. "I see your fees and licenses are up to code."

"Yes, unfortunately the previous owner was not a good businessman," Eddie mourned. "I of course have nothing but respect for the law, and..." the intercom buzzed, "Master, there is a comm call for you."

"Ah, would you gentlebeings excuse me for just a moment? I have been expecting a call, a most urgent one." He hurried out, the two government beings looking at several stacks of coins left on the work desk, then at each other.

------------------------

"Most appreciative, L'jissa," Eddie said as he entered the flight deck. The hidden camera aimed at the desk, she smiled, "Recording, Master." He picked up an earbug, hearing the two beings as they quietly lowered the stacks of coins by half. "I count ten kilos they've 'borrowed' between the two of them, Master," she added.

"I need to do something nice for you, my dear," the Riddler said with an evil smirk. "What would you like?"

"Freedom for the twins, Master?" she asked.

"Already offered," he murmured distractedly. "I was thinking of you."

"Oh!" she replied, then grinned, "I'll think of something, Master. For now, I'll take your marker. What about the flight inspectors coming next day after half-meal?"

"That involves the safety of the ship. I've got an independent crew coming later today, we'll work with what they say. Perhaps the Spacer's Guild inspectors will be honest."

"Government, honest?" L'jissa snorted, "Your forgiveness, Master, but not in my experience." She motioned to the screen, "Is your call over, Master? They look curious."

------------------------

"Ah, an old NG-52," one government inspector said. "Reliable, but not as efficient as newer models. He popped open an access hatch on the machine, "How many animals have you collared since you took possession?" he asked.

"Bought and sold some, but haven't collared any, I'm not too familiar with the workings of this machine," Eddie replied. "The previous owner seems to have deleted those files, perhaps you have manuals and such I might purchase? It is possible that I will need to do maintenance, you see."

"You will also need a new controller board," the other inspector said. "With the change of ownership, you see. The previous owner's block of numbers will be reassigned to you, but you do need that board. We have a new board that will fit, with a copy of the documentation, that will come to ... ten kilos."

"I don't have a credit chip with me," Eddie said. "Will you take tungsten?"

------------------------

Eddie waved as the government ground-car left the docking bay, then grabbed L'jissa up, swinging her around and hugging her as she squeaked in surprise. "Oh, that was well done, my dear!" he cackled. "I must do something nice for you. What would you like?"

She reached up and ran a finger along his jaw, "For you to unlock my belt and take me, Master. It has been a very long time..."

Eddie paused, then held her at arms length. "Unfortunately, my dear, while I would also undoubtedly enjoy the experience as much as you, I cannot. While you wear that odious collar, it would be too much like rape to me. I do apologize." He smiled gently at her, then turned and walked off as L'jissa stared after him, her small fists pounding in frustration on her locked, metal-clad groin.

------------------------  
**_Thursday, August 30, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, '_**Honest M'aab's used starships**_': 12:51 (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Greetings, welcome back gentlebeings!" M'aab said. "Have you reached a decision regarding the ambulance ship?"

"We have rented a few slaves for an engineering analysis," Hauptfeldwebel Schultz said. "They come from a very experienced house, and you _did_ say that the ship came with current flight certification..."

"Yes, yes of course it does," M'aab said. "Perhaps if you would care to step into the office?"

"We are planning on having the ship modified at another yard," Mattie said. "Perhaps we can discuss the associated fees for that work while my friend and his slaves examine the ship?"

------------------------

M'aab sweated, this little p'wheet was a demon from the pits! She had negotiated not only additional fuel, but quite a few of his spares! He had struggled to keep the ship at his asking price of 75 tons, and this without hearing the slave's report! '_Bankruptcy_!' he thought, as she sat back, and smiled sweetly as she sipped her tea. '_At least I can finally move that p'tak ship_!' he thought, then looked up as his slave knocked.

"Master, this master wishes to join you." '_The p'wheet's partner_!' he thought, suppressing a groan as he spied the pad in his hand.

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 31, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, bay 56: 07:25 (relative)  
_**------------------------

Eddie thumbed the slave's computer, transferring funds for the equipment rental as he arranged it in the cart. Activating the antigrav, he pushed it out the gate, which was held open for him by another slave, neck-chained to another girl. He smiled, Ms. 383 was returned to him. They knelt before him, and he raised an eyebrow. Not a single emotion crossed her face, her eyelids blinked every five seconds precisely.

"Master, your slave is returned to you," the first girl said. "If you will release her neck ring, and sign the receipt, please?"

Pulling her up, he inspected her emotionless form, finding a silver implant on the side of her temple. He turned, "What was done to her?" he shouted.

The girl cringed, "Master, I do not know. I was chained to her and ordered to deliver her, and for you to sign her receipt. That is all I know, Master!"

Edward Nigma snarled wordlessly, snatching the pro-offered pad and glancing at it. "This is more than was agreed to. 'Implants and programming' – what else was done to her?"

"Master..."

"Inform your owners I will be discussing this with them," he snapped, thumbing the pad and tossing it back to her. Unlatching the neck ring, he snapped at 383, "Go aboard, wait in the small cell." Clipping the ring onto the other girl's neck, he told her, "Get out of here," as 383 walked by, machinelike.

------------------------

L'jissa watched from her work platform as it hovered next to a thruster assembly at the stern. Another girl was delivered to her master's consternation, and as the delivery slave left, two ground cars came in, one with three slaves chained in the back, the other a black one with tinted windows. A being with golden skin was gesturing at the girls, she squinted, but these seemed to be WorkForce slaves. "_I'd hate to be one of those poor girls_," she thought to herself, finishing the adjustment of the thruster. Weapons were stashed all over the ship, she touched the Gauss rifle clipped in the thruster's framework. She was closing the controller's hatch when the occupants of the tinted-window car emerged, one looking at her. She raised her chin so he could see her collar, he turned back to her master.

With a 'pop', the WorkForce sales being collapsed, his slaves showing no movement or emotion at the death of their master. One of the black-clad beings turned away as L'jissa thought, '_He saved my life, I owe him, and he's a good master_.' Clipping the platform's remote to the waist of her slave belt, she climbed onto the warm hull of the ship, as her master argued with one of them, waving his arms about. She lay across the hull and lined up her target in the sights. The one thug turned as his comrade collapsed, his hand weapon waving about, pointed at her master. He looked about, then he collapsed.

Clipping the unfired rifle into its bracket, she rolled across the hull, onto her work platform, which she recklessly flew into the open main hold. Scrambling off it, she shouted, "Master! We need to get them in the hold and get off this planet, now!"

"They were looking for your former master..." he said, grabbing one of the bodies and dragging it toward the gaping hatch.

"They are Black Hole, Master, a criminal organization," she panted. "I am sorry, I recognized them too late. Can you get those idiot slaves to help?" she asked, motioning at the emotionless, unmoving slaves still sitting in the vehicle, and the one kneeling next to the hatch, all with the silver glint of a cranial implant. She climbed behind the controls of the black hovercar, flying it into the hatch.

She ducked as the open back car, still containing the emotionless slaves, crashed down next to her, her master calling "Z'hann! Inside the hatch, and hurry!" The emotionless girl gracefully stood, hands still locked behind her and strolled toward her master, where she knelt as L'jissa slapped the 'emergency close' for the hatch.

------------------------

"I'd like to know what's going on," her master said as L'jissa kicked the closed hatch in frustration. She turned, "Master, _please_, you may torture me later, but we only have a few minutes to get off this planet! Will we waste it with questions?"

He regarded her for a few endless seconds, then triggered the hatch, "All right. Once we're in warp, come to my quarters."

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master!" she said, telling those two useless twins, "There are five slaves in the hold. Secure yourselves with them in the small cell, Master will release you later." As she ran toward the flight deck, Master told them, "Do it."

------------------------

Edward entered the flight deck, as L'jissa played the helm like a concert pianist. She looked back at him, "Master, I'm setting a flight plan up-arm, but actually we're going Coreward, there's a place I know. You might want to call whoever you were going to sell those slaves to, let them know there will be a delay in delivery."

He grunted, "I'd still like to know what's going on."

She spun around to face him, "Master, the small of it is that two agents of Black Hole were killed. We can argue self defense, but until they are placated, we are under a death sentence. _You_ will die quickly, as a slave, _I_ will not be allowed to die until I have been tortured for a long, long time. They practice on slaves, Master, slaves that have displeased them in some small way." She shuddered, "Now, may we _please_ stop questioning, so that we may hopefully escape with our lives?"

------------------------

"Why sector 2814, _Query_?" the outbound controller said. "I heard there's a war going on there. Best to stay away."

"Unfortunately, I have a contract for slaves to be delivered," her master lied smoothly. "Substantial penalties, you know how it is."

"Indeed I do," the controller chuckled. "Take 1428 to the outer marker, and Source be with you."

"The Source to you, also," he replied, telling her, "Follow that course, and come to my cabin when you finish, slave. You need discipline, your last scores were disappointing," he said as the controller's image disappeared.

"Yes, Master," she replied. "I'll be there in a few minutes, when we're on our proper course." He grunted and left.

------------------------

L'jissa stopped at the small slave cell. About two by three meters, it currently contained seven slaves, all but two neatly neck-ringed to the wall and silent. She studied them through the mesh door, even her fingers too small to slip through. Sighing, '_Those two are useless_,' she unscrewed the latch to the key-locker, pulling the door key on its wire out and unlocking the door. As the key zipped back, she hooked the door open, telling the two, "Be silent. If I owned you, I would have sold you off long ago." Shaking her head, "Don't you remember your training? You are slaves in confinement, wrists cuffed behind you, necks in rings! Our Master will decide if you need further punishment."

She turned to check the WorkForce slaves, hearing the ratcheting sound of necks locking in rings. Surveying the now quiet, orderly cell, she nodded once, stepping outside to double-lock the door, smiling slightly as the two twins flinched at the 'thunk' of the secondary locks going in, and the 'snick' of the padlock.

------------------------

L'jissa glanced through the clearsteel in the hatch as she touched the comm, "Master, your slave is here at your command."

She knelt as he replied, "Come in."

"Master, I cannot open this door, you must do so."

She watched him set down his drink on his desk, and walk over to trigger the door release. With a motion, she entered her Master's quarters.

------------------------  
**_Friday, August 31, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, bay 33, _**_McCoy_**_: 12:25 (relative)  
_**------------------------

"Kapitän zur See, meldet der Amerikaner eine Schwierigkeit, den Sklaven Ihnen zu übertragen," (Captain, the American reports a difficulty in transferring the slave to you,) his comm officer reported. (He had to leave the planet suddenly, he will try to transfer her to you at Christmastime, when we are scheduled to meet.)

(Acknowledge, that is agreeable,) the captain replied in German. (We have quite a bit of work to do before then. How goes our launch preparations?)

------------------------  
_**Friday, August 31, 2001:  
Epsilon Eridani III, Docks, bay 32, **Cassidy Yates**: 12:34 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"How goes the launch preperations?" Mattie asked.

"They be on schedule, although Mr. R launched ahead of schedule," Anne replied. "I know not why, his only message was that he would try to meet with us at Christmas, he would transfer the girl at that time. I forwarded the message to the _McCoy_," she concluded. "Captain, why doth you and the others smile when you hear that name?"

"I'll explain, or try to explain later," Mattie replied. "How about the cargo?"

"The generators are aboard, and Alfred doth have the additional data storage installed and filled," she replied. "The larger items like the missiles and their launchers are aboard the _McCoy_, as they have more cargo capacity. We have the hard suits and..."

------------------------  
_**Friday, August 31, 2001:  
The **Query**, outbound, Master's cabin: 13:54 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"This slave is here for her interrogation, Master," L'jissa said, entering and kneeling in front of the desk. "We are on our registered course, auto-flight is engaged and will alert here if there is a problem. Speed is ten lights per hour, we have three and a half hours before course change is required. Shall I bind myself?"

At her master's nod, she stood, untying the smock she wore, neatly folding it and placing it on the table. Kneeling again, she pushed at a section of decking, sliding a small panel aside and extracting a set of shackles. Sliding the panel back so the heavy cable came through a small notch, she stood, jumping and trying to reach a pair of hanging shackles.

"Allow me," Eddie said, reaching up and pulling the shackles down to her level. She offered her wrists to him, and he snapped them into the cuffs, then bending down and securing her ankles.

"It must be nice to be tall," she said, adding, "Tightly, please, Master," the girl said, and he closed them another few notches. "Slave tight, please," and her wrists were tightened. She smiled at him, "Thank you, Master."

"I do have quite a few questions for you," her master said.

"I have a few for you, also, Master," she replied. "Pull me up, Master, pull me off the deck, pull me tight, I am your slave, Master, you are not courting me, you need not be gentle with me." She raised her chin to look at him, her arms and legs held a few inches apart by her shackles, her curly brown hair cascading down her back. "Look at me, Master! I am your collared slave, Master, who has displeased you. I wear your collar, pull me tight!"

------------------------

Eddie regarded the girl standing before him, naked except for her slave belt and collar. Her ankles were separated by about four inches, locked in flat steel shackles that were linked to the deck with a strong cable, her wrists held in similar shackles. That head, with the cascading brown hair and the intelligent brown eyes gazing fearlessly back at him, above the silver slave collar, the alternating green and yellow lights indicating a judicial enslavement. A slave collar that she knew would never be removed from her neck. Taking two steps back, he glanced at the mysterious panels filled with their alien scribbles.

After a minute, the girl said, "The second panel from the left, top row, fifth switch, Master," she told him. "Flick it up to raise me, down to lower. The top button gives me a shock, the bottom one releases my shackles." She chuckled, "Not until we have spoken, though, Master."

"Ah. Thank you," he replied. Moving his chair along the track in the deck, he moved her smock to the desk, setting his drink upon it. Settling himself comfortably, he found the indicated switch again, the soft whir of a winch pulling her up. He watched her as she hung by her wrists, the tension growing in her body as she was stretched. He stopped when he heard a small gasp from her, then touched the switch for a second more. "At the moment my dear, you are not my slave, you are my prisoner. I must thank you for shackling yourself so efficiently." She nodded, he continued, "For the moment, I believe we can dispense with the 'Master' and 'slave' fiction. You are clearly not a slave, no matter the collar gracing your lovely neck. I require from you total honesty, as I am considering spacing you, and flying the ship with the twins and Z'hann. My name is Edward."

"In that case, I am L'jissa," she replied, "You are clearly not a master, and I will trade question for answer if you will return the courtesy." She watched him glance at the board, and she chuckled, "Please, give me a shock. The slaves in the cell need to hear you discipline me."

He found the correct button, and she screamed in pain. Releasing the button, he asked, "Why?"

"To reinforce your mastery for those other wenches," she replied. "You need to appear as a strong Master, even though you have shown yourself to me as... reluctant with slaves. Tell me, what is your history with slaves? How many have you owned?"

"None, before this trip, and I would prefer not to," he replied. "I regard trade in intelligent beings as odious, and against my moral beliefs. However, to complete my mission, I will do what I must." Regarding her, "I will not discuss my home system with you."

"Perfectly understandable, neither will I," she said, "Hm, an open system in sector 2814," she mused. "Several possibilities there. In any case, I suppose I should plead for my life, or at least explain myself. However, a question for you, who cleaned this cabin?"

He reached for his glass, taking a sip and regarding her over the rim. "How does that link to my decision on your execution?"

"Simple," she said. "This cabin is one of the secure areas on the ship. I'm marked as a slave, and therefore cannot enter it without your physical presence. Neither can the twins. Given the state of the ship when you killed Cropag, I must assume you didn't clean it, so who did?"

"Cropag?" he mused, glancing about the spotless cabin. "Ah, I knew him as 'Smelly'."

"Ah, his wonderful perfume," she said with a grin. Jerking her head, she motioned, "Inside the fresher, there should be a grey spray bottle in an airtight container. If you take a very careful sniff, you should have his odor. I would appreciate your spacing it, I've smelled entirely too much of it." She twisted in her shackles, "In the top left drawer under the bunk, you should find an artificial arm."

He regarded her, "I had noticed that, and wondered about it. That still does not grant you a reprieve. After all, there are two dead Black Hole members, and theft of slaves and other material from WorkForce. I am nominally your owner, it is my responsibility. How do I explain that?"

"The WorkForce slaves and their ground car can be returned to the local office when we land," she replied, adding with a grin, "Keeping a copy of their data for yourself, of course. A simple slicing job. The corpse can be linked by the weapon to Black Hole, and you did not wish their property damaged when you launched." She paused, adding, "Another shock, please. I would appreciate your tightening my slave belt when you stand, I lack the leverage to do it properly myself."

Touching the button, he listened to her scream, "Black Hole?" When she didn't answer, he touched the switch to stretch her, when she gasped for breath, he repeated, "Black Hole?"

"What were they asking for?" she asked. "Payment on a debt?"

"Protection," he said. "To ensure nothing 'bad' would happen to me or my cargoes. Nothing was said about a debt." He added, "Why?"

"Cropag owed Black Hole about twenty kilos in gambling debt," she replied. "He lost most of our operating capital that way. When we land, I would send the twins with Cropag's head to the local office, with a certified bank chip between his teeth for forty kilos, which would cancel the debt. They'll inform Eridani Three. I would send an unsliced copy of the vid with them, a note that you killed them in self defense, not knowing their identity." She glanced at him through her sweaty hair, "You do have that much, I assume?"

"Why the twins?" he asked. "I will need them to operate the ship."

She snorted, "I hope you weren't planning on freeing them," she replied. "What did they say their qualifications were?"

"Astrogation and Engineering," he replied. "I have their chips right here," he added, touching a few slave control chips on the desk.

"Mine is already in the system, although it does need to be updated since my change in status," she replied. "Master," she added for emphasis, "They are lying to you. They've told me a quite different story, they were cargo, not crew on their last ship. They thought me inferior to them, and boasted, thinking you won't read their chips." She snorted, "Fools."

"Assuming you are accurate," he said, "How do I read them?"

"With the access control system, of course," she replied, surprised. Looking at him, she asked gently, "How many flights have you been on, Master?"

He was silent before admitting, "This is my second."

"Ah," she replied. She gazed at him, then said softly, "Cannot read Trade, inexperienced with starships, doesn't know about Black Hole... You DO have an implant, don't you?"

He nodded, tapping his jaw, "Spoken only, nowhere else."

"No hip implant?" she said, shocked, "Master, an access control system has two divisions, slave and free. Free persons have their hip implants scanned and entered into the database when they board, slaves have their control chips entered in a control board. This way, someone won't get into an area they shouldn't. If you put the Owner's wand down next to me, I'll show you what to do." She wiggled her fingers in her shackles, "Don't worry, I can't do anything with it."

"Later," he told her, and she nodded. "How do I test the twins?"

"For the engineering liar," she said, "I would suggest putting a few drops of Cropag's perfume in one of the smaller holds. We'll smell it, and she should offer to vent that compartment to space. If she can't figure that out, or tries to vent the entire ship, she's lying to you. A slave ship is built with multiple life support systems, each hold is monitored, and the pain circuits in the collars of those particular slaves can be triggered, they can be gassed, or vented to kill them, whatever Masters wish."

"That makes sense," he said. "The other?"

"As part of our course, we will need to circle around a neutron star," she replied. "Auto-flight will drop us out of jump space in RNB 73436, which is a navigational way point. To resume our course, we need to get to Padrino 257, there are two courses around the neutron star. The safer, longer one is to the galactic west, with three subsidiary way points, the much riskier but faster one is galactic east with two way points, crossing through a nebula. Those confuse sensors, you really need a top grade navigator to use that course." She shifted in her shackles, "Any other course, she's lying to you."

"She claims to be a former military navigator," Eddie said. "If they are lying, what would you do, in my place?"

"I certainly wouldn't free them," L'jissa snorted. "I would keep them slave. You are under no obligation to free them, especially after they lied to you. What of the other two wenches? There was 383, and the other girl you mentioned. Did they get data implants?"

"They did," he admitted, "I was most upset about it. They are robotic, like those WorkForce girls. I asked for 383 to be updated, so she would be qualified to operate the ship, and for Z'hann's medical knowledge to be brought up to date."

"Wise," she agreed. "I would mention two things regarding them, though. As you asked for the impossible, in getting an untrained slave competent to operate a T-class freighter in a few days, and possibly several years worth of medical data in a similar time, I would reserve my anger for the salesbeing who assured you there would be no problem."

"Salespeople seem to be the same the galaxy over," he said with a chuckle. "What else regarding them?"

"Until you have a competent slicer examine their programming and the data inserts, I wouldn't trust them," she said. "Leave them locked in the cell, it won't hurt them. Secondly, a healer is not usually qualified to fly a starship, or to maintain it. Possibly a shuttlepod, but the two are vastly different. Lastly, while 383 may have been programmed with some engineering knowledge, it would be for a stock T-class freighter, not this ship, and it would be book learning, not experience."

"Point," he agreed. "What is your experience, and I still want to know about how a slave knows where concealed weapons are."

"I was not always a slave, Master," she said with a grin, nodding to the small pile of control chips. "Nine years ago, I took this ship and modified him as a slaver." She looked at him, "Another shock, please." After her scream of pain, she said, "I do believe I'm getting comfortable. A bit tighter, please." She sucked in her breath, gasping, "A bit more, please." As Eddie heard her joints pop, she breathed a sigh of relief, "Ah, that's better, thank you." Glancing at the clock, she said, "We're about due to come out of jump space. Please don't forget your Owner's wand, and see what happens with the first lying twin." She chuckled, "I'll stay here and wait for you, but on your way, would you be kind enough to tighten my belt, please?"

He stood, striding behind her, and she could hear drawers opening. "Open your mouth, slave," she heard, and obeyed. He forced a gag in, locking it tight. "Since you enjoy your bonds tight, I will oblige you, and treat you as a slave. You will revert to calling me Master, as the other slaves do." he said from behind her. "I don't trust you, you haven't earned it. I will determine your fate later, for now, you will hang there and be silent. Be glad I have not thrown you out the airlock yet." Screwing plugs into her ears, a blindfold over her eyes, she felt a hood locked in place over her head, and as a final gesture, her belt was forced to its limit.

------------------------  
_**Friday, August 31, 2001:  
The **Query**, outbound: 14:43 (relative)  
**_------------------------

Eddie studied the cell door. Made of heavy steel, a fine mesh screen on the door's inside permitted ventilation while prohibiting small fingers from trying to access the locks. Welded to heavy bars, there was a spring lock in the center, with additional heavy steel bars that rotated into place on the top and bottom, all protected by smooth steel plates. A strong padlock dangled, locking the bars in place while a small hook served to hold the door open for access. Looking inside, he could see the three WorkForce girls neck-ringed to the left bulkhead, silent and motionless except for the rhythmic blink of their eyes. Heavy pipes came from the bulkhead to disappear into the deck, a locked access panel in front of them, an empty neck ring against the far wall with a pair of hoses and a yellow button mounted next to it.

To the right, closest to his cabin knelt the two zombie girls in neck rings, followed by the twins. Taking a step to the right, a small box was mounted half a meter away from the door, using a screw arrangement to lock it. Twisting the latch several times, he extracted the keys for the doors, which were on retracting steel lanyards, and secured the door open as they zipped back into place. He studied 383's automatically locking neck ring, '_How like a handcuff_,' he thought to himself, and pulled the release. Telling her, "Kneel in the passageway and wait for me," he glanced at the inner seamless steel of the door, and flicked the hook, wincing involuntarily as it latched with a solid 'thunk'.

------------------------

"Follow me to the flight deck," he told her, and silently, gracefully, she rose, following him a half-meter behind, wrists still securely cuffed behind her. He stopped, opening the hatch and holding it open for her. "Take the helm," he told her, and she sat on the edge of the chair. He leaned over the back of her chair, releasing her wrists and telling her, "There is a course change plotted. Can you read it?"

Looking down, she glanced over the board before swiveling her gaze back forward, telling him expressionlessly, "Yes, Master."

"What is the new course?" he asked in a frustrated voice. "Does it bring us close to the neutron star?"

"The new plotted course is 357 negative 22 degrees for eight hours sixteen minutes to 54 Cassiopeia at current cruising velocity of ten light years per hour, Master. It does not intersect the neutron star."

"Lock your board and turn to face me," Eddie said, taking the Captain's chair. 383 did so, replying "Yes, Master," as she swiveled around in her seat. "Ash, what did they, what did I do to you?" he asked the attentive, silent girl, green and yellow lights gleaming on her slave collar. "Damnit, answer me! How do I unlock you? How do I release this..." he stopped when she jerked, slumping forward.

"That's the magic word, Master. Oh, wow," she said as she rubbed her temples. She glanced at him, "You have no idea how frustrating that program is. You have no voluntary control of your body, all you can do is breathe. You hear everything, you can see whatever you're staring at, you can think but you can't talk." She glanced at him shyly, "Like a Borg drone, Master. It's perfect obedience, it's just ... natural to say 'Master', to cuff yourself, to obey like I did. It's a compulsion, a habit. There are no other options, Master."

"Interesting..." he mused. "I presume 'Secure' would be ..." 383 stiffened once again, wrists flicking behind her to recuff herself. "Hmm ... Release," he told the girl, who once again jerked and slumped. He reached forward to release her hands again, telling her, "Slow the ship to two light years per hour. I think we will have a nice little discussion, my dear. You may start by addressing me as 'Eddie', not Master."

"Yes, Master Eddie," she replied, and he sighed.

------------------------  
_**Friday, August 31, 2001:  
**Cassidy Yates**, Sol system, inbound: 15:01 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"Captain, we are receiving a message from the _McCoy_," Alfred said. "They report heavy fighting in space near the inner asteroid belt."

"Have you been able to get in touch with my Aunt Barbara?" Mattie asked.

"I have not yet received a reply," he answered. "As you are the sole living occupant aboard, if you wish to use your Ring and fly ahead, I will place myself under the command of the _McCoy_. They have more advanced sensors and equipment than I do."

She thought for a minute, then said, "I'll do that, let me get a couple things from the cabin. How long until they reach Earth orbit?"

"They came out of jump space outside Mars' orbit, and should arrive on Earth in a few hours."

"Anne will be on time for school, then," she said as she entered her cabin.

------------------------

'_Scan for Kryptonian life signs_' she thought to the Ring, it replied, '_One is approaching_.' She waved, "Hello, Superman. How can I help?"

"Welcome back, Pimpernel," he replied. "Let's go sit down and we'll talk about it."

------------------------

"... so that's the situation," Clark said, standing in the JLA's meeting room on the moon. "I want you to be my strategic reserve. Stay on Earth, I promise to contact you if I need you."

"But..."

"I'll clear things with your mom and Minerva, so you can leave in an instant if necessary," he said with a chuckle. "I know you want to help, this is the best way you can."

"All right," she said. She twisted her Ring off, handing it to him. "Freshly charged, it will come and fetch me if necessary. I'll get the Battery..."

"Keep it, John's brought his," he said, standing. "Contact Barbara, get the new transport tube access codes, I'll send you down to London, to your aunt's townhouse."

"All right," she said reluctantly. She hugged him, "Be safe, Uncle Clark."

------------------------  
_**Friday, August 31, 2001:  
The **Query**, outbound, flight deck: 15:18 (relative)  
**_------------------------

"... so that's the situation, my dear. I have a total of eight slaves aboard, and I'm not certain whom I can trust," Eddie said. "I have received L'jissa's opinion, I would like yours."

"A fine pickle indeed, Master," she replied from her seat at the helm. "Of those eight slaves, four know you are a spy, including me." She arranged her legs to sit tailor-fashion on the seat, which allowed the cuffs on the back of her belt to project through the seat. "I would agree. Don't trust my programming or Z'hann's until a slicer examines the code. That is necessarily an illegal act, L'jissa is most likely to know someone from her former career as a gunrunner."

"You cannot examine it, from the inside, so to speak?"

"No, Master, it is hardened against the slaves' breaking it. I am also not familiar with the operating system or the language it is in." She grinned, "I've poked at it a bit, not having much else to do while locked in a cell, but I don't know if I carry a trojan horse of some sort in my code. She pulled her hair back, unconsciously lifting her breasts, "Think of it this way, Master. My personality, the one you're talking to now, is essentially a ... virus. We need to substitute part of my viral code with the operating system embedded back here." She tapped the back of her head, "It was most fascinating to watch, Master. My head was opened up and a small board inserted under my brain, next to my spinal column. The actual data files are in another insert here, under my skull, this here," she tapped the silver implant on the right, "is an access point." She turned to look at him, leaning forward, "Master, I was told that the implant links to my collar. It cannot ever be removed, I _cannot_ be freed, but that is _my_ fault. I was the one who made the decision to sneak aboard in search of a slave's collar. I won't see you blame yourself for my stupidity. For now, we need to determine how to complete your mission. What I would suggest is to have L'jissa and I cross-reference each other. You cannot fully trust either of us, have one slave come up with a solution, then secure her and verify with the other slave."

"My dear, despite your willingness to assume all the blame, my conscience is not so easily assuaged. Do not give up hope of being freed. If necessary, you may consider that an order."

"Yes Master."

"Now what of the twins?" he asked. "What would you do?"

"Master, they _lied_ to you," his slave said. "Furthermore, they did it knowing of your ignorance and hoping to gain their freedom. While I can certainly understand their desire for freedom, lying to your master is not the way to go about it. I would keep them as slave, and let them earn another chance." She tapped her collar, "One slave about another. One does not lie to your Master, especially for your benefit and not his. It's... cheating, one could say."

"That seems rather callous. Both you and L'jissa had the same opinion," he said. "I wonder if you would have the same opinion were you not in collars yourself?"

"Master, it's a point of honor, if you will. If you had ordered me to lie, that would be one thing. Were I to command them, knowing that they lied to you and presumably also to Mistress Wayne, I wouldn't trust them further than I could throw them."

She grinned, "Master, I doubt very much I will ever own a slave, but one thing slaves want is consistency and fairness in an owner. If I make a mistake that I shouldn't have, then punish me, but do it the same as another slave making the same mistake." She pulled her hair back again, grinning at him, then said, "I have heard stories of weak owners who should be wearing their girl's collars, I have heard of owners who will flog a slave to death after a hard day because she did not bow low enough on his arrival." She tapped her collar, "I committed a crime, and wear a judicial collar. I say let the slave's punishment fit her crime, and if it were up to me, they would be in judicial collars, for lying to their owners."

Eddie leaned forward, "You do not see this as an unjust conviction?"

383 shook her head, "No, Master. I did what I did, whether on a spacecraft or the _Queen Mary_ makes no difference. On the _Queen Mary_, I would have been put ashore, and had to pay back the line. In both cases I would have broken the law with malice aforethought. Now, Master, if I may be permitted, I will think about how I can best serve you and whatever your mission is. For now, auto-flight is engaged, it will be about twelve hours before a course change is required. I would... what was the term you used?" she grinned, "Oh, yes, 'Zombie' me again, then lock me in the small cell again. Your slaves will require food and water soon, Master, and I for one would very much like to pee."

Eddie regarded her, stroking his chin. "I shall return you to the cell again, my dear, but only long enough for you to relieve the other girls' bladders. I believe it is time we cleared the air, once you have done so, please re-secure everyone's wrists, including yours, and neck-ring our WorkForce guests to the wall again. I shall fetch you and the twins shortly."

"Yes, Master."

------------------------

L'jissa felt herself lowered, her shackles unlocked and female hands treating her wrists and ankles. As she was cuffed, her hood and earplugs were removed, she was helped to stand, and bent at the waist. As her belt was connected to the waste removal system, she felt the vacuum pumping out her waste and moaned into her gag in relief. Barefoot, she felt injections in her neck, and was lead out of the compartment.

------------------------

Z'hann removed the gag and blindfold from the slave, kneeling her in front of her master. Cuffing herself, she said, "Master, all slaves have had waste vented, and the injections you specified have been given. The one slave's wrists and ankles have been treated."

Eddie nodded, "Thank you, my dear." He looked at the five kneeling girls, all with wrists cuffed behind them, "I believe it is time for all of us to ensure our mutual survival. As this is likely to be contentious, you may speak your minds, but you will remain cuffed, and you will remain kneeling. Furthermore, this will not be shared with the WorkForce girls."

"What about them, Master?" L'jissa asked. "What will you do with them?"

"Regretfully, I must return them, with the other materials to their owner," he said. "Otherwise I would be liable for slave theft." He looked them over, "Why do you ask?"

"Master, I have looked into their eyes," 383 said quietly, "They know they are slaves, they are property, but there is such a look of ... longing. Is there any way to buy them?"

"They are sample units, Master," L'jissa said. "They are given out for purchasers to try, and are generally discarded, given or sold to weapons dealers as practice targets. Furthermore, they are aware of their fate, but their programming ..."

"I cannot buy every slave in the galaxy," Eddie said. "If there is a way to purchase them cheaply, I will do so, but I make no guarantees. I have a mission to fulfill, one which means you two," he indicated the twins, "have a great deal of explaining to do." He glanced at Z'hann, who glanced at a bulkhead clock and nodded, "Z'hann has injected all of you, including herself, with a truth drug, which should be effective now." He leaned forward, "Why, when you were considered free in my home system, did you volunteer for this mission? Why did you lie about your credentials? You knew you would be acting the part of slaves, why come?"

"Master," one twin said, swallowing nervously and pulling at her bound wrists, "We wanted our collars off, they are hateful things, but we did not think there was the slightest chance of your being able to bring the technology back."

"We were captured by pirates, Master, and have been sold several times," her sister explained. "Multiple births such as we are very rare, our value increases when we are sold together. We agreed to the deception in order to increase our chances of actual freedom, of having our collars removed, instead of the false freedom you offered, and we were not seriously questioned regarding our qualifications. We were able to lie to your agents, and then again to her," she shot a poisonous glance at L'jissa.

"Except you failed Master's examinations," L'jissa shot back, adding, "Master, as we speak of pirates, I can feel from the vibrations on the deck that we have reduced speed. May I ask why? A slow-moving ship is a more attractive victim."

"I wanted time to think," he said. "Increase speed to five light years per hour, please." L'jissa arose gracefully, turning to present her cuffed hands to Eddie. He studied them, the alien steel holding them flat to her back and parallel to the waistband, her palms out and open, with the latch positioned so she could not release herself. Her skin was wrinkled as the tight belt compressed her waist and the silver band traveling between her legs. Reaching forward, he placed his thumb against the latching post above and behind her wrists at the small of her back, squeezing the two individual latches tightly against the springs. The straight backs with their sawtooth edges sprang loose, and she shook her wrists, the dull sawteeth preventing her from twisting her wrists in the cuffs. Stepping forward, she took a seat at the helm, he leaned over her, "Show me how."

"Did you upgrade your implant, Master?" she asked, and he nodded. "To increase jumpspace speed with this model drive, you need to unlock the board by turning this key, then while holding this control in, you simply type in the new speed in this keypad." She indicated a readout, "Our revised time to the next course change, Master. Was there anything else?"

"Five hours, if I'm reading it right," he said, and she nodded. He motioned her up, recuffing her hands and motioning for her to resume her seat. He leaned forward, locking the board again, then regarded the girls as he resumed his seat. "As far as I am concerned, the five of you are free, regardless of your collars. Z'hann, I purchased you for a friend of mine, he was purchasing a medical ship, and a physician is always useful to have. My primary mission is to acquire the means to remove the collars and associated implants from slaves, secondarily to acquire useful small items to duplicate that will assist in the colonization and defense of my home system. I would appreciate suggestions how you might assist, and you need not call me 'Master', I find it offensive, my name is Eddie."

"Master Eddie," L'jissa said, "I believe we might work together. I have similar goals, one of which is to remove this f'nark collar, but also to have my revenge on Cropag and his s'nark' father, and gather intelligence for my own homeworld." She shifted on her heels, "If you are willing to accept my bond, I will accept yours. I cannot accomplish my goals while collared as a slave, and I have resources you do not. I have a suspicion I know which system you come from, you can use an arms dealer such as myself. Once we return to your base, or system, you might unload the collaring device, as it is crucial to your primary goal. You will then transfer title to the S'na'd back to me, and our deal is done."

"What of us?" one of the twins asked.

"I am not so generous," L'jissa said. "You lied to get aboard, you lied to your master, and to your master's superiors. I would keep you slave until you had proved your trust to me, and I would put you in judicial collars for those lies." She glowered at the twins, "I would not sell you off, but you would remain slave to me, I would suggest you go with Master Eddie."

"Do you know a data slicer that can examine our code?" 383 asked L'jissa. She looked at Eddie, "Mas... pardon me, Mas... Master Eddie, it occurs to me that I might prove useful to you as a data slicer. I was a reasonably talented cracker back home," she added. "As your slave, I can access places you cannot, Master."

"I do not wish you slave, my dear," he said. "I do not wish to own any sentient being. It disturbs me when you parade about nude, this is why you wear smocks."

"Master Eddie," Z'hann said, "Like it or not, when we step off this ship, we will be regarded as slaves, and you as our master. How we interact in private is a different matter, and is common between slave and master. While we know what is in your p'tah gland, we must act as the galaxy regards us, as slave and master. For all our survival, can you act the Master?"

------------------------  
_**Friday, August 31, 2001:  
The **Query**, outbound, Master's cabin: 20:53 (relative)  
**_------------------------

Eddie re-entered his cabin several hours later, telling the computer "Awaken me in six hours". As he undressed, he considered what to do regarding L'jissa and the other girls, knowing his subconscious mind would come up with a plan. "Lights," he told the computer as he slipped between the silken sheets.

------------------------

30


End file.
